Touched (13 page)

“That’s it!” JoHanna jumped from the bed and threw her hands in the air. “They moved! Both of them, Duncan! They moved!” She threw herself across the bed, hugged Duncan, then got up and ran around the bed to hug me. “They moved!”

Pecos fluttered into the room and landed on Duncan’s bed. He gave me a look, cocked his head and looked again, then lifted his wings slightly, a warning to me not to get too close when the room was in a state of wild emotion.

“Pecos!” Duncan grabbed him by a leg and dragged him over to her. “Don’t be mean to Mattie.”

JoHanna swooped down and kissed Duncan’s forehead. “It was all that swimming we did up at Fitler. I told you the river was magic, that it would bring the muscles back.” She was almost jumping up and down with delight.

Duncan grinned up at her. “Nope, it was the dream. I dreamed I was running, and I tried. That’s how I threw the tray off me in my sleep.”

JoHanna grabbed her hands, bringing them up to her lips for a kiss. “Then thank god for the dream, Duncan. If it takes getting chased by a drowned man to make you run, then let’s get him to come after us again.”

“Drowned man?” My question fell into the joyous celebrations of the room unheard.

“Drowned man?” I asked again.

“The man in the dream. He’s at the part of a bridge that goes in the water.”

“The support,” JoHanna supplied.

“He’s sort of sitting up against it and he’s calling me to come to him.” As Duncan spoke, JoHanna stilled. She was watching her daughter, listening to the dream with more care. “He calls your name.”

The child nodded. “He says ‘Dun—can!’ And he reaches out to me. There are chains around him, but they’ve fallen down to his lap because he’s …” Her voice stilled. “He’s sort of a skeleton, but not really. Except the fish swim out of his ribs.” She closed her eyes. “He wants me to come and sit beside him under the water.” The last she finished in a whisper.

“You didn’t say that before,” JoHanna said, stroking Duncan’s head.

“Each time I dream it, I know more.” Duncan looked up at her mother. “I don’t want to dream anymore, Mama.”

“Maybe once you start walking,” she leaned down, “and dancing, the dreams will stop. Your body is used to being up and about. Usually, you fall asleep before your head touches the pillow.” She kissed Duncan’s head, rubbing her hand over the fine dark hair that had grown out about a quarter of an inch. The two of them, had they been blond and standing in the sun, would have looked a great deal like dandelions. “Your body and mind have been confused, but things are getting back to normal again. You’ll see.”

“Good.” Duncan smiled at JoHanna and then at me. “Stay for the picnic, Mattie. Please! We’re going to have such fun. Floyd likes you a lot.”

“And how do you know that?” I entered her teasing spirit, eager to put the nightmare behind us all.

“I just know.” Duncan’s grin was wicked, but pleased.

“It’s true,” JoHanna said, joining in. “He does like you a lot. He says you’re kind.”

“I’ve hardly spoken to him.” They were making me feel self-conscious.

“No matter. Floyd can read goodness in people.” A crow’s wing of dismay touched her eyebrows. “If only he could see meanness as accurately.” She looked at me and smiled. “Anyway, he thinks you’re good to the bone.” JoHanna lifted the tray where I’d stacked the pieces of broken dishes. “Now I have to make some sandwiches for the picnic. Will you go with us, Mattie? Floyd is bringing some special sweet cakes from Mara’s, and he said he was getting one for you, just in case you changed your mind.”

What would Elikah say when he came home from lunch and I was not there and no food was cooked? What would he do when I came home? I didn’t have to voice my questions. JoHanna read them on my face.

“I’ll take care of him.” She kissed Duncan again, then stood. “In just a minute Mattie is going to come help you with your legs. Do every exercise, Duncan. Don’t cheat, okay?”

Duncan rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’d rather wait for a dream.”

“Maybe I’d rather pinch you.” JoHanna threatened to do just that until Duncan squealed and gave her promise.

JoHanna motioned me out of the room and into the kitchen, where she stopped in front of the phone. “Elikah has a phone at the barbershop, doesn’t he?”

I nodded. He’d recently had one put in, claiming he needed it for business, but I knew it was more for gossip and the convenience of Tommy Ladnier and his buddies.

JoHanna cranked up the phone and asked the operator for the barbershop. She looked at me, her blue eyes suddenly merry. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “You know this will be all over town, so prepare yourself.”

I nodded, wondering what in the world she was going to say and what price I’d pay at a later date.

“Elikah? This is JoHanna McVay.” She lifted her eyebrows. “I’m calling about Mattie, I’m sorry to say.”

I could hear his voice but couldn’t understand his words.

“I was headed into town early this morning and found her on the side of the road. It looks like she’s … having some female difficulties. I brought her up to the house and have her in bed. I don’t think she should be moved.”

There was a space where he talked again, his voice more excited.

“Well, it’s a difficult thing for a woman. I believe it would be best to leave her here. Since I’ve got Duncan, I’m housebound and I can look after her. She doesn’t have any people around. Why don’t you come up and have supper with us?”

I shook my head, but JoHanna was almost laughing. Her voice was terribly serious, very warm and cordial, but her eyes told a completely different story.

“I’m going to give Doc Westfall a call, too, but I think I know what to do for her. If the bleeding gets worse, I’ll call you back.”

He said something else.

“Well, I can’t really talk right now. She’s already upset and I don’t want to make it any worse.”

He talked again.

“Since you won’t come for supper, I’ll call you at the shop in the morning and let you know how she is.” She hung up.

“What did he say?”

JoHanna looked at me. “He was awfully agreeable. Too agreeable.” She waited for me to respond.

I wanted to tell her about New Orleans, but I couldn’t. I simply could not say anything about it. I looked down at the floor. I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Mattie, what are you going to do?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll write your mama.”

I shook my head again. “I can’t go back there. Jojo is just as bad. Just as mean.” A tear dripped off my nose.

“Too bad he wouldn’t come to supper. We could have poisoned him.”

I looked up quickly, but I couldn’t tell if she was joking to make me feel better or if she was serious.

Twelve

“T
ELL us about the disappearance of Mr. Senseney.” Duncan held a half-eaten sandwich in her hand, waving it at Floyd as if it were her royal scepter.

“Okay.” Floyd was leaning up against a tree, his thick hair a damp blond sheaf that was cut straight across at his jawline. It was a young boy’s haircut and contrasted sharply with his bronzed, bare shoulders. JoHanna had said he was twenty-three. His tanned chest was hairless, but definitely not childlike. I looked down at the ground and listened to the easy bantering.

Instead of going for a long picnic, we’d decided to go back to the seclusion of the creek behind the house, where JoHanna and I had swum. We didn’t want to run the risk that someone would see us on the road and mention it to Elikah. Or Doc Westfall. JoHanna had called him, giving him more graphic details of what sounded to me like a miscarriage. Doc had agreed to call Elikah and convince him that it was for the best for me to spend a few days with a woman friend, someone who could tend to me without causing shame or disgrace. She made me sound terribly pitiful.

Despite my worries and fears, I felt happy and carefree as we sat on the bank of the creek, stuffed to the point where I flopped over onto my back in the cool dirt as Floyd prepared to tell his story.

JoHanna was leaning against the same big, smooth trunk of a wild bay tree and she pulled Duncan up into her arms, so I was the most convenient audience for Floyd to look at. He sat with legs apart, hands balanced on his knees as he leaned forward to eagerly begin the story. As a gunslinger or storyteller, Floyd had his moments to shine.

“Have you ever been to Fitler, Mattie?” he asked.

“No. I want to go. JoHanna’s told me some about it.”

“It was the biggest town in this area, a boomtown.” He leaned forward even more and looked around at JoHanna, proud at the use of her expression. “That was back around 1880 and up until Mr. Kretzler built the railroad here in Jexville. That sort of sucked the life out of Fitler.”

“The railroad runs on time and the river has its own schedule,” JoHanna said. “Folks were more decent when they had to rely on the river. They couldn’t get away with being as mean because they had to depend on each other more.”

Floyd nodded, as if he’d seen such sights with his own eyes. “That’s true. But the story is that if the bridge over the Pascagoula River at Fitler had been finished, then Jexville would have been the town to die. That’s why it’s such a mystery what happened to Jacob Senseney, the man who had the money to get the bridge built.”

Duncan leaned forward in her mother’s arms. She was exhausted from the nightmare and the exercises we’d done, without further leg improvement, but she was unwilling to give up the day and nap. “Old Mr. Senseney disappeared and was never heard from again. Some say—”

“Duncan!” JoHanna clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back into her chest, laughing as Duncan pretended to struggle. “You wanted Floyd to tell the story, so don’t spoil it for Mattie.”

Duncan squealed, then nodded yes that she would behave, and JoHanna removed her hand.

“Anyway, Fitler was a hoppin’ place.” Floyd shook back his hair and smiled at me. “The main street was nearly a mile long, and there were five saloons and three of those had whorehouses on the top. Right beside the finest of the whorehouses was the jail, then a land office, and on down were three cafés and a restaurant with a French chef from New Orleans.” He looked at JoHanna, who nodded. “JoHanna ate at the French restaurant. She said she had crepes!” He smiled big that he had used the word. “And other things that I don’t want to think about.”

JoHanna laughed. “My parents had come down to Fitler to invest in the timber business and the town. They were going to build a big sawmill there, to compete with the one in Pascagoula. But the hitch was, there had to be a way to get the lumber inland. At Pascagoula, they load it onto ships and sail it to market. Fitler needed an inland system. A railroad. And to get the railroad a bridge was needed. The ferry was very risky because of the river currents.” She brushed her hand over Duncan’s head and stopped talking.

I’d heard from Janelle how JoHanna’s folks had drowned on that very same ferry. Yet she still took Duncan swimming in the Pascagoula as often as she could. Almost as if she defied the river. Or maybe joined with it.

Floyd picked up a small twig and twirled it in his big hands. “Mr. Senseney was a Yankee from up in Minnesota. From all the old tales, he was the black sheep of the family and had come south to avoid the law.”

“What had he done?” I interrupted without thinking. “Sorry, Floyd.”

“It’s okay. There are a lot of different stories about that.” He gave JoHanna a look as if he expected her to jump in. When she didn’t, he continued on with only a slight hesitation in his voice. “The best I could tell was that he was the second brother in a family and his daddy left everything to the oldest son. Lots of folks around here think like that, that the oldest boy inherits and the others have to fend for themselves. So the land won’t be divided.”

“For those families who have something to divide.” I hadn’t intended my comment to sound so bitter, but it fell into the middle of the story like a stone. For a few seconds there was silence, then the screech of a red-tail hawk, which broke the tension, and Floyd continued.

“Jacob Senseney was said to have stolen all the money from the family business and headed south to make his own fortune.” Floyd grinned. “There’s a tale that says he left a note saying he was taking only a portion of what should have been his fair share. That may be true or not. As far as I ever heard, no lawman ever came looking for him, and he made a fortune down in Mississippi in land and timber. He owned two of the saloons in Fitler and two of the really bad ones that were set up like houseboats and floated up and down the river. But his pride and joy was an old paddleboat called the Mon Ami. That’s another French word for ‘my love.’ He did love that old boat, ‘cause he stayed on it a lot, going up and down the river having card games and such.”

I started to tell them about the card game that Elikah held on Sundays, but I held my tongue. It wasn’t my business to tell, and I didn’t want to even say his name on such a nice day.

“Mr. Senseney got in with JoHanna’s daddy, and that was when the bridge became more than just a dream. It was going to cost a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars to build, and the state wouldn’t give a penny. The state engineers said the current was too strong right there at the fork of the Leaf and Chickasawhay, but Mr. Dunagan, that’s JoHanna’s daddy, and Mr. Senseney hired their own engineer who said it could be done.”

Floyd’s voice had picked up a fast rhythm so that it seemed as if he’d told the story many times after learning it from someone else. Or perhaps he did have a flair for the telling. His face was alive, his blue eyes holding mine with a trust that finally revealed itself as his deficiency. He trusted me to listen, to believe as he believed. He trusted me to give as much as he gave, and for that he was the object of ridicule and sport on the streets of Jexville. In his complete innocence, he believed that Clyde Odom and others of his ilk were playing with him.

“Is something wrong, Mattie?” He was staring at me with concern.

“No, Floyd.” I patted his knee and felt the rock-hard muscle of a young man. “I was listening too hard. Please go on.”

He nodded, picking up the story. “So it was agreed that if Dunagan and Senseney built the bridge, then the state would improve the road north of Fitler to Meridian and south of Fitler to Mobile. The road was part of the old federal roadway, and a well-traveled route.” He cast a glance at JoHanna. “The drawback being the ferry.”

“Why didn’t they build two smaller bridges over the Leaf and Chickasawhay?” I’d never seen any of the rivers, but I loved the word Chickasawhay. It was like music in my mouth.

Floyd looked at JoHanna, who now supported Duncan’s head on her chest. Duncan was fighting sleep, but her sharp eyes were becoming slow and lazy. Pecos had even settled onto a roost in an old huckleberry bush beside her.

JoHanna’s voice was soft, low. “The swamps at the fork of the rivers are very dense, especially where the bridge would have gone. To go upriver would have meant abandoning all the benefits that the wider, deeper Pascagoula gave the town as far as river traffic. In Daddy’s mind, and Mr. Senseney’s, it was Fitler or nowhere. Especially since that was where Mr. Senseney owned so much land and where growth would have meant even more money for him.”

I nodded.

“Well, there was the terrible ferry accident where Mr. and Mrs. Dunagan drowned.” Tenderhearted to a fault, Floyd said those words all in a rush and didn’t dwell on them. “But Mr. Senseney was determined to go ahead with the project. It took him a year or two, but he got the supplies together and began to pour the cement supports that would hold up the bridge in the swift current. It was a wonder, and people came from all around to watch the work, which was slow as molasses. But finally the supports were in, and standing. That spring there was the worse flooding ever. One of the supports was hit by a barge that had come loose. The supports held! It was time to build the platform of the bridge!”

Floyd leaned toward me, his eyes bright. God he was a handsome man. And not the least aware of it. I wanted to reach out and touch his face but knew that it would be wrong. No matter what my intentions, it would be wrong. It would not matter that what I wanted to touch was his tenderness, his sense of wonder. I held my own hand in my lap.

“That night Mr. Senseney was in his biggest saloon, The Watering Hole, and he was saying that he was headed out early in the morning to New Augusta to buy supplies there. Then he was going straight down to Pascagoula to buy more supplies there. It was his plan to start building the bridge from both sides! He said it would be done in six months, and then he had an appointment with the head of South Central railroad. See, if a wagon bridge could be made across the river, then he was certain a railroad bridge could be put a little farther downstream. At the bar he was so excited he bought drinks for everyone, and drank a little too much himself. Then he went home.”

Duncan had fallen asleep with the familiar story, but I was spellbound. “What happened?”

“Since Mr. Senseney said he was leaving before daybreak, no one missed him for several weeks. It would have taken him some time to go to New Augusta, get back and he’d said he was going straight down the river to Pascagoula, and the Mon Ami was gone. Everyone thought he was on board her. But after five weeks and there was no sign of him or his supplies, folks began to wonder. He didn’t come to collect his rents or take care of his business, and the Mon Ami returned and the captain said he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Jacob Senseney. They telegraphed a family by his name in Foley, Minnesota, but he wasn’t up home with his folks. He’d just vanished.” Floyd lifted his eyebrows over his kind blue eyes. “And he was never found.”

“What happened to the bridge?” I asked.

“It was never finished,” Johanna said. “The supports are still in the water, holding as firm as he and Daddy said they would. But no one ever had the money to buy the materials, and when the railroad decided to go through Jexville, it was the end of Fitler and the dream of the bridge.”

“That’s a sad story.” It had left me with a hollow sensation. “All of that work, all of those dreams. Where do you think Mr. Senseney went?”

“Folks thought he was murdered, but there was never a body. Some said he got scared and took the money and left. Part of it was Daddy’s money and I was supposed to get some of it.” JoHanna acted as if she was talking about marbles or jacks, something unimportant.

“Part of a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars was yours?”

JoHanna’s smile was tired, as if she’d spent all the energy she ever would on this subject. “Half of it. Daddy put up half the money for the bridge, and Mr. Senseney said he would finish Daddy’s dream and then give me my money back plus a portion of the profits he made on his land.”

“And what happened?”

“There was no written agreement. His property was sold or stolen, and I guess they sent the money to his family in Minnesota.”