Blue Thunder (3 page)

Though her mother protested constantly, her
father believed it was a good idea that his daughters knew how to
handle a rifle in order to protect them as well as him and Jason.
But Daphne would not touch a gun. The first day Melissa picked up a
riffle, her shoulder smarted from the bruise she received because
she jerked the trigger instead of squeezing. It didn’t take her
long to hit the tin cans with the first shot. Her father clamed she
was a natural.

There she sat rubbing the soreness for
awhile, waiting for the pain to subside. If she were wearing her
brother’s field boots, instead of those soft shoes, this wouldn’t
have happened. When she finally stood, she put her weight on the
foot lightly until she was able to balance herself without falling.
It was quiet now, except for a sudden creak at the top of the
stairs. Engrossed in

picking the best potatoes, she thought she
heard the cellar door closed and locked.

Melissa gathered all the potatoes in the
apron she’d put on before descending and retrieved the lantern she
had hung halfway down the steps. At the top of the stairs, she
reached for the knob only to find the door locked. Thinking it may
be stuck, she tried again. When it wouldn’t open, she frowned,
wondering why someone would lock it. Laying the potatoes on the
steps, she took the knob in both hands, shaking vigorously. It
still wouldn’t budge. Panic welled inside her, not able to believe
why anyone would forget she was down there. The door was never
locked during the day.

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Puzzled, she rapped lightly, and then placed
her ear against it to hear any sounds. It was quiet at first, and
then she heard Effie screaming something. She pressed her ear hard
against the thick door then jumped hearing a gun shot. What was
happening? She pounded on the door, pleading for someone to open
it; no one came. She continued to pound until her hands were sore.
Eventually, she became exhausted and crumpled to the steps, sobbing
until she cried herself to sleep. When she opened her swollen eyes,
it was quiet. Again, she pressed her head against the door to
listen for sounds.

Moments passed. The stale,
damp air assaulted her nose; she wanted out of that dingy hole. She
was beginning to think like Effie, looking about fearing creepy
crawling things. Nervously, she rubbed her arms, wishing she hadn’t
gone down there alone. A gun shot rang out! It was close by. She
gasped, fear choking her breath.
Dear
Lord, what was happening?
Then she heard
Effie shout and a strange man’s voice swore.

Panic gripped her heart. Icy fingers seemed
to tickle up and down her spine. Her eyes

squeezed shut, she
wondered what happened; common sense told her to be quiet. She
listened to different voices, and then there was evil laughter.
Bile rose in her throat. What was going on? Where were her parents?
Where was Daphne? Oh God! She gulped in a long shaky breath trying
to be calm as the damp brick walls seemed to be closing in on
her.
Claustrophobia was only in the
mind,
she tried convincing
herself.

Time ticked by slowly, the
lantern would soon go out for lack of fuel and she wasn’t looking
forward of being there in the pitch blackness of the cellar. Just
the though made her breathing laborious. Drawing herself from her
dark fear, she repeated over and over, to convince her petrified
senses.
Claustrophobia, only in the
mind
,
only in the
mind
.

“That was a delicious meal, Blacky,” Smitty
stated after a loud belch.

Effie, acting braver than she was put her
pudgy hands on her hips and barked, “Y’all have yo’ bellies full,
now why doan yo’ leave?”

Smithy laughed. “And leave all this southern
hospitality?”

Joe got up, opened his shirt and scratched
his furry chest. “Think I’ll look around. It’s mighty quiet and I’m
sure there are more darkies hiding somewhere.”

13

“There’re long gone from here,” Smitty
declared with a loud yawn. “Saw a bunch of them hightailed into the
woods as we rode in; they won’t be coming back. You and Boyd stay
here, see if you can find some whiskey. And tie her up.” He nodded
toward Effie before he went out the back door. Now, if those
Yankees thought she’d be trusted up willingly, they didn’t know
Effie.

The leader Boyd saw her give him the evil
eye and he only laughed. “Don’t think you can scare me with your
voodoo, Blackie. Now be a good slave and sit here.” He nodded to a
kitchen chair with his head.

She folded her thick arms over her large
breasts and harrumphed.

Smitty hooted, “Looks as if you got yourself
a lot of woman there, Boyd.”

Boyd did not appear very impressed by his
friend’s banter and snorted. “Hold your gun on her while I tie her
up.”

Apparently these spawn’s of Satan thought
that it was easier said than done to push her around. When Boyd
tried to shove Effie into the chair she wouldn’t budge. Smitty
continued to hoot, not making Boyd’s disposition any better. The
move he shoved, the more she resisted and his friend roared.
Finally, the annoyed soldier had enough and snatched the weapon out
of Smitty’s hand and pointed it between her large breasts.

“Now, if you want to keep you man happy, I
suggest you sit, and pronto!” He finally secured her to the chair.
She knew she would be no help if shot.

Outside, Joe noticed small spots of blood
where once laid an injured man. Thinking he ran to the woods, he
shrugged then walked away. Entering the barn, he squinted into the
dimness not seeing the cat nursing her kittens. He stepped on her
tail and a painful meow made him step aside. The mother cat leaped
to her feet with one kitten refusing to let go of her nipple as
others scrambled after their dinner.

“Damn cat,” Joe groused. He looked around,
noticed the stalls were empty and figured

the horses were probably taken by the
Confederate army. They’ll not be able to get fresh mounts before
leaving. He was about to turn and join his friends when his eye
caught a piece of bright pink material peeking from around a stack
of hay. Slowly, he approached and saw a small pink, satin slipper
under the fabric.

14

“Well, what do we have here?” He grinned,
swooping down on the frightened girl. The pretty little thing
didn’t fight him, but lay limp in his arms. When he entered through
the front door, he found his friends in the parlor.

“What the hell?” Not too steady on his feet,
Boyd stood. Joe assumed he had found liquor and already finished
half a bottle.

“What dooo we have here?” asked Smitty, his
speech slurred. “Let’s seee what you got.”

Joe dumped the girl carelessly on the
settee. She looked at them with a glassy stare, and then huddled
into a ball.

“She’s just a kid,” stated Boyd, who
sauntered on wobbly legs over to the girl and studied her for a
moment.

“Yeah, but a pretty little thing, ain’t
she?” declared Smitty, nudging Boyd in his ribs.

“I’ll drink to that,” replied Joe grabbing
the bottle from Boyd’s hand and took a swig. He looked at the half
empty bottle, raised his cattail brows, and groused, “Seems you
boys couldn’t wait for me. So since you were the first to liquor
up, I’ll be the first to get to know this little filly.” His two
friends looked at each other with stupid grins on their faces and
shrugged.

Boyd grabbed his bottle back from Joe and
raised it to salute him. “Have a good time, Joe. Smitty and me are
in no hurry.” He collapsed on a chair with his bottle.

Joe picked up his tiny bundle. She kicked
and squirmed in his arms making him curse her. “Hold still or I’ll
knock you out. You don’t have to be conscience for what I have in
mind,” he said, and then spat.

Daphne didn’t know who these men were but
they smelled as bad as the one who carried her. When she first
heard the gun shots she ran to the barn door and looked out. Upon
seeing Union soldiers enter the yard, she froze behind the door
watching men fire on the house. Petrified, she peeked through a
crack and saw her father and mother gunned down. When the men
disappeared into the house, Daphne double over, clutching her belly
and the contents of her stomach spewed into the hay. Her breath
came in spurts as she tried to swallow the horror she had just
witnessed. Completely dazed, she crawled over behind the haystack
to cry. Disoriented, she lay still trying to make sense of all the
jumbled pictures that raced through her head. She

15

refused to acknowledge this nightmare was
real. This was her birthday. Bad things shouldn’t happen on her
special day. She closed her eyes against the images until they were
gone and only darkness covered her memory.

Without warning, a stranger grabbed her and
she lay trapped in his arms. He smelled awful and he placed his
dirty hand over her mouth making her gag. When the man carried her
out of the barn, she noticed the dead bodies in the dirt and
wondered who they were. One was a lady with blood all over her
face. When Daphne opened her eyes, she discovered that she was in
her home. The smell of fresh bread and apple pie made her happy;
that’s all the reality her mind would let in. But, she continued to
fight until she was slapped hard and she went still.

Just as Joe reached the staircase he was
snatched by the seat of his pants. He stumbled off the first step
and fell against a large bulk and he turned to see the cook. He
struggled but she managed to hold him up by grabbing him around the
waist. He loosened his grip on the girl and she slipped from his
hold onto the floor. The black servant swung him around and slugged
his nose making him stagger back.

Enraged, she pounded on him relentlessly.
“Yo’ let de chil’ be! She’s an innocent babe.” She continued her
assault until the butt of a gun knocked her out.

“What took you so long?” croaked Joe. “I
thought that old bat would kill me. Damn, she came at me like a
bull.”

Smitty laughed. “Aw, we thought you were
having a good time.”

“Yep,” agreed Boyd, taking a mouthful of the
liquor.

Joe sneered. His two buddies returned to the
parlor roaring with laughter. He wiped his bloody nose on his shirt
sleeve and dragged the girl upstairs.

When Sam regained consciousness, he was
amazed to still be alive. His shoulder burned as if on fire but the
bullet went clear through the fleshy part of his upper arm.
Grateful, he didn’t have to dig it out he peeked into the window
and saw his wife serve those bastards the meal she had prepared for
the birthday feast. He couldn’t help her until he doctored his
wound and got himself a weapon. His best chance to retaliate was
when the soldiers slept. He was sure they would nap after Effie’s
delicious cooking. “Enjoy your last meal,” he grumbled under his
breath.

16

Daylight yawned into dusk when Sam returned
to the house with two large knifes. Two of

the men were passed out in the parlor,
making it easy for him. He thrust a knife into a black heart
swiftly, and then cut the jugular of the other’s neck. Bile rose in
his throat as he went looking for the third one. Sam put the
bloodied knife in his belt upon finding Effie unconscious by the
foot of the stairs. Slapping her gently, his wife moaned but didn’t
open her eyes. Sam ran to the kitchen and brought back a glass of
water, spilling the cool liquid on her face. She sputtered, wiping
the wetness from her eyes, and then opened them to find him staring
at her.

“Oh, Lawd, hav’ mercy on mah po’ soul,” she
gasped, shocked.

Sam didn’t understand Effie’s glassy stare
and thought the bump on her head left her crazed. Then he realized
the last time she saw him he was shot and she believed he was dead.
He took her hand and placed it over his heart to feel it beat.

Her eyes bulged. “Oh Sam, yo’ alive. Lawdy,
he’p me up. Yep’ yo’ sho’nuff skeered de wits out o’ me.”

Sam showed his wife his bandaged arm, when
she stood on wobbly legs. She groaned and said she had one hell of
a headache. His wife confessed that her head hurt more than the
time she drank too much cooking sherry. She then told him when she
heard Daphne scream, something snapped inside giving her strength
she never knew existed in her old bones. She rocked the chair
frantically back and forth until she fell to the floor with a crash
loosening the ropes. She quickly unraveled them from her body and
with as much steam as she could muster, ran to Daphne’s aid.

Her hand went from her head to her bosom and
Effie gasped, “Oh, mah po’ babe,” she wailed and sucked in her
breath. His wife then ascended the stairs as fast as her legs would
carry her large body. She huffed and puffed and rested a moment on
the landing. Sam followed

quickly. They heard whimpering and he prayed
they were not too late. She pulled him to listen at the door; it
was quiet, too quiet. He nudged his wife aside and put his hand on
the barrier, the door yawned open.

Daphne was so slightly built that all Sam
saw was her small limbs spread-eagle, devoured by the big bastard.
He went livid and plunged the knife into the back of the
unsuspecting soldier. The soldier groaned and collapsed on
Daphne.

Sam heard Effie’s screams behind him. He
went to her and squeezed her shaking hands

17

gently. “Calm yo’self woman. We mus’ he’p
dis po’ chil'. C’mon, he’p me,” he ordered, but his own voice
quaked.

His mate nodded, her eyes filled with tears.
When they pulled the dead soldier off Daphne, she was covered with
blood. Wailing, Effie blessed herself and fell to the side of the
bed. The girl’s eyes were closed; her face was so pale that she
looked dead. Sam felt Daphne’s pulse; it was weak and he patted the
child’s face until she opened her eyes. He had seen this look on
slaves that were beaten beyond tolerance. Her mind was someplace
else, but where? Sam could only imagine. And maybe it was for the
best, at least for the moment.