Mississippi DEAD (9 page)
Authors: Shawn Weaver
“One? I told you to kill ‘em all!” Johnathan looked from Abel to William. Neither man met his eyes.
“Couldn’t, one’s just a kid.”
“Doesn’t matter. Damn Confederates wouldn’t think twice about putting lead in you.”
William shook his head.
“Can’t, Johnathan. Can’t kill a kid outright. It’s different if e’s across the way and I don’t have to look ‘em in the eye.”
Abel agreed. There was many a child upon the battlefield. Even his younger brothers were out there somewhere.
“Christ almighty,” Johnathan spat. “Take me to ‘em.”
“He’s hogtied behind the barn,” Abel said, knowing that he could be in a world of hurt, as well as a court martial, for not obeying orders.
Shouldering his rifle, Johnathan looked to the rest of his men and barked orders. “Abel’s with me. Isaiah, check the house. William, go with Smitty and check the barn.”
The tired men stood and went about their orders without complaint. No longer worried about being cut down, all crossed the field.
Johnathan spotted a small overgrown garden. In the weeds he noticed the green tops of carrots and the yellow flowers of a mustard plant.
Probably wouldn’t be much, he thought to himself, but knew that anything added to their dwindling rations would be welcome.
With the sound of the long grass sweeping past their boots, Abel led Johnathan across the perimeter of the field and to the row of rotting hay bales. The wet pungent odor of the hay tickled Abel’s nose. Wiping it with the back of his hand, he pointed to the three bodies on the other side of the bales.
Seeing them lying at odd angles. Johnathan could tell that William had taken his job seriously and done the men in without a single shot fired. By the way that their heads lay, Johnathan could tell all of their necks were broken. Johnathan had no idea why he questioned whether they were dead or not. Could be that the days of travel and the mounting war had brought him to the edge and he was ready to go home.
Without being told, Abel started to strip the Confederate soldiers of any useful items — bullets, powder, and a few had worthless script issued by the Confederate States. Abel tossed the paper money to the side, but he kept the silver coin that he found. Silver, no matter which side it came from, always retained its value.
Luckily, a few had hardtack left in their gunny sacks. As he pocketed it, Abel hoped that better rations could be found inside the house. But he doubted it. The way that the fighting had been going, back and forth across the states, each side had scoured the land of food and of every item of value.
“Hairy bastards,” Abel said, then bit into a small gold coin. The metal bending under his teeth showed that it was real.
“And you’re not!” Johnathan sat on the ground and pulled a boot off of one of the dead.
“Not that hairy. These guys are wearing fur coats.”
Johnathan chuckled as he checked the size of the boot against his own. The boot was large, but anything was better than the one he wore. The hole was so big he could wiggle a toe through it.
Tugging off the soggy boot, Johnathan pulled on the dry one. Finally he had a good pair, even if one were black and the other a worn brown.
Grabbing a gunny sack, they piled the acquired goods inside, and picked up the dead men’s rifles. Abel led Johnathan towards the back of the barn, where, in the high weeds, the unconscious young boy lay. A large goose-egg sized welt shined across his forehead and his hands and feet were tied together with the strap of his own rifle. The boy looked no more than thirteen.
“Should ‘ave killed ‘em,” Johnathan said.
Abel didn’t reply.
“He’s your problem now.”
“What am I supposed to do with ‘em?” Abel asked.
Shrugging, Johnathan said, “Put him in the barn. He’s your prisoner.”
“Damn,” Abel responded, kicking the ground.
The last thing the troop needed was a prisoner to lead around. More so, Abel knew that he was stuck outside. Spending a night indoors, warm and dry, was something that he had not done since he enlisted.
Handing his rifle to Johnathan, Abel bent down and hefted the boy over his shoulder. Weighing less than ninety pounds, the boy was a miniscule weight, but the dank smell of wet fur hit Abel in the face. Grumbling to
himself that he should have broken the boy's neck when he had the chance, he headed toward the barn.
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Welcome to Plainfield
CHAPTER ONE
Songbirds called out happily to a morning sky filled with clouds made of cotton. The cool breeze cutting through Spritland cemetery reminded Evelyn Hartley that winter had left. Though the warmth of the sun caressed her face telling her spring was here and summer was on its way.
Rocks crunched underneath her black penny loafers as she stepped around thick clumps of bright green grass, which grew around twiggy bushes sticking out between the black bars making up the four foot tall fence surrounding the cemetery.
Interspaced along the graveled road tuffs of weeds sprouted towards the sun, flourishing since the last freeze. With every step she ran a hand from one cool bar to the next of the black wrought iron fence separating the sleeping dead inside from the occasional car that sped by without a thought.
In no hurry to get home from her baby sitting job watching the Spencer twins. Evelyn brushed her long auburn colored hair back over her shoulder. Looking through the fence at the multitude of gravestones standing in the cemetery, she gazed through the fence at the multitude of gravestones standing in the cemetery, reading the names carved in the simple blocks of rock. Many of the names worn away, leaving the dead lost to time while other grave markers were sturdy edifices proclaiming who lied here and had a life and a loving family.
At the head of the graveyard, a small white church stood before the square entrance of the cemetery. Its low roof and squat structure sat on lonely property. Stain glass windows were set darkly in the walls of the church. Waiting for Sunday’s service to come and bring life to its doors. Evelyn knew no service would be coming this Sunday or any other. The pastor had moved on, as had the congregation, for new prosperity and happier surroundings.
She continued to walk along the road. While a, 1949 Ford Sedan pulled out onto the gravel road from a small barren lot acting as the parking lot along the rear end of the Spritland cemetery.
Slowly the Sedan followed, its dull paint showing years of wear, along with spots of rust eating at its edges. Evelyn heard the crunch of gravel and the slight squeal of rusted brakes as the Sedan slowed to a stop. She stopped and turned to see who drove up. Unable to could not see through the windshield for the suns glare against the glass was a bright blinding spot making her squint slightly.
Slowly the dusty driver side window rolled down. Stepping toward the car, Evelyn looked in and recognized the familiar dirty and worn plaid hunter’s cap with its woolen ear flaps turned inward. Beneath the cap, long ears with pudgy lobes were set on a round head with short cropped graying hair sticking out like bristles on a brush. A sharp nose, rounded at the end stood out against the driver’s gaunt cheeks and slightly drooping eyes, clearly showing the driver’s lack of sleep and haunted spirit.
“Hi, Eddie,” Evelyn said, recognizing the face and thin form of Edward Gein, or Eddie as he was called by the locals in the town of Plainfield. The small farming community where he had grown up and now did odd jobs as an adult.
“Hello, Evelyn. What are you doing out here?” Ed said with a smile showing slightly yellowed teeth just a little bit brighter than his skin.
“Just got done watching the Spencer boys,” Evelyn replied, flipping her sparkling hair once again over her shoulder.
Ed’s eyes moved away from her face to the golden flecks sparkling in her hair. Then down to the white button down shirt she wore and the matching green and white plaid dress that stopped just above her knees. Then slowly to her white bobby socks and shiny black penny loafers. If anyone else had looked at her way, Evelyn would have been creeped out.
She could hear her mother’s voice in her head telling her Eddie was harmless and simple, whatever that meant. But as he licked his dry lips, Evelyn did feel a little bit of worry in the pit of her stomach.
“Want a ride home?” Eddie asked.
“No thanks, it’s a nice day for a walk.”
“You sure? I’m going your way,” Eddie said giving a nod up the road.
“No.., well.” Evelyn replied, knowing not to take rides from strangers. However Eddie was not a stranger. He was Eddie Gein, a friend of the family. He had babysat her and her brother, Tim, numerous times before she’d turned thirteen and mother decided she was responsible enough.
Smiling, Evelyn nodded and skipped around the front of the Sedan. Reaching across the bench seat, Eddie popped the lock and opened the door for her. She caught the opening door and jumped in.
Closing the door, Evelyn glanced through the dirty windshield then to Eddie. The salt and pepper stubble on his face looked rough as sandpaper. And he smelled, funny. Sort of old and something else Evelyn couldn’t put her finger on. A smell she encountered when her parents had taken her and her brother to see her Uncle Paul after he’d lost his leg in a car wreck.
Pushing in the brake and clutch, Eddie put the car into drive. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Gnarled knuckles, spotted with hair, showed years of hard work growing potatoes on his family farm.
The dirty white vinyl of the bench seat showed its age and wear. A few small rips poked out at the seams. She could see no trash on the floor, but when Evelyn moved her feet, particles of dust rose, bringing up a sour scent. Sniffing, Evelyn figured Eddie needed a bath. Old people smelled like that.
“What you doing out here?” Evelyn asked while sunlight sporadically crossed the interior of the car through the trees overhead.
“Oh, just visiting a few old friends,” Eddie replied.
As they moved along the gravel road, Evelyn looked out the dirty window. Eddie looked toward her, his eyes caressing the curve of her face. Licking his lips, Eddie quickly reached out. Grabbing her by the neck, he quickly struck her head against the dusty dashboard.
Dazed, Evelyn tried to raise her hands in defense. She was too late for Ed drove her head into the dash again and again until darkness enveloped her.
Unconscious, Evelyn crumpled toward Ed on the bench seat. Feeling her soft hair, he liked the way the sun played through the windshield on her. Looking up and around himself, Ed pushed Evelyn to the floor on the passenger side.
Sure she was out. Ed began to whistle while he turned the corner with his prize on the floor of the front seat and something special in the back.
Waking with a jolt, Kay Stanley sat up on her bed. Holding her head, she could feel the bursting pangs of a migraine coming on. Not sure if the headache was from the horrid dream she had, or one too many Miller Lite’s the night before.
Across the room, sitting on a rickety TV tray, a small fifteen inch television played the morning news with a too cheery blonde-haired reporter rambling on about a pile up at the intersection of Fish Hatchery Road and Highway Eighteen.
Pulling the tangle of sheets away, Kay crawled slowly out of bed. She swung her feet over the side and touched the floor, a cold shock of goose bumps moved up her legs. Rubbing her arms, she stood and stepped over to the oak dresser standing against the wall that separated the small bedroom from the living room.
Picking up a beat pack of Marlboro’s, Kay looked in the little square opening and one lonely cigarette called up to her, smoke me. The cellophane crinkled in her fingers as she pulled the last cigarette out of the package and then crumpled the wrapper and tossed it into the trash.
Ignoring the Surgeon General’s warning about smoking, Kay stepped into the single large room which acted as living room and kitchen. Moving over to the counter separating the small kitchenette from the living room, she picked up a blue Bic lighter. Flicking the roller, she sparked a small yellow flame. Bringing the hot flame to the end of the cigarette, she inhaled quickly, igniting the tobacco and pulling the soothing smoke deep into her lungs.
Running her fingers through her hair, Kay looked over the tiny living room. Sparsely furnished with a beige chair, blue couch, and dented coffee table with cracked squares of beige inlaid title. Against the back wall a large television on an oak cabinet filled with movies.
Turning into her small kitchenette, Kay walked across the cold off-white linoleum tiles and went about feeding her second addiction, caffeine. In corner of the counter next to the sink sat her over used coffee machine.