The Outcasts (15 page)

She took hold of the chair handles and continued rolling Elam into the schoolhouse, then settled him at his usual place. She told her students to work on whatever they pleased, only to be quiet.

She sat in her chair and stared out the window, thinking of the letter she would post that day. She hid a tight, satisfied smile with the palm of her hand; soon she could quit this place and begin a life of protected comfort in New Orleans.

A sudden rush of air caused her to turn. May stood in the doorway, holding on to the door frame with outstretched arms, her hair blown into cascading ribbons around her neck. She wore the dove-gray dress and a fine lavender shawl that Lucinda had given her. May smiled excitedly, her cheeks and forehead wind-reddened and glowing, and Lucinda’s breath caught in her throat to see in one body such a perfect balance of color, form, and motion. A true and strong affection for the girl rose up like springwater and Lucinda smiled in return.

May took two steps into the room, seemingly unaware of all the other students staring at her as well. “Miss Carter,” she began breathlessly, pointing towards the door.

Lucinda looked through the open space, saw nothing.

“Your brother, Bill, is coming.”

Lucinda blinked and stood. On Red Bluff Road, a man walked slowly towards the schoolhouse, leading his horse. He looked closely at everything around him, swiveling his head from side to side, taking in the fields and houses in the distance. When he noticed Lucinda standing outside in the yard, he waved once and continued his same leisurely approach. The sun flared off a pair of spectacles and perhaps a glint of teeth showing through a growth of beard.

May came to stand next to her in the yard, and Lucinda felt the girl slip one hand into hers.

“I met him along the road,” she said. “You told him in your letter that you’d befriended someone he’d be interested in. And now he’s come to meet that friend.”

It took a moment for Lucinda to comprehend that May was speaking of the unfinished letter recovered from the greenhouse. She looked at May’s upturned face, rapturous with a girl’s expectation of being admired and a woman’s fevered hope of being pursued, and she suddenly realized that May believed that the friend referred to in Lucinda’s letter to Bill was not Bedford but herself.

T
he crisis for Dr. Tom came the day after Nate’s return from Lynchburg in the form of a roaring fever and frightening visions that left him moaning and disoriented. Nate and the doctor sat with him through the night, nodding occasionally into sleep, only to be awakened again by the ranger rambling and calling out several times, “Watch it, watch it…”

The doctor warned Nate that the patient could be dead by morning, but by daybreak, the fever had broken, and Dr. Tom gave himself ten days to recover sufficiently to ride with Nate to Lynchburg.

The doctor shook his head but conceded, “I’ve known stranger things to happen. God moves in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform.”

 “God, and a lot of opiates,” Dr. Tom countered.

He gestured to Nate to help him out of bed, and the two of them shuffled around the room for a few minutes. Winded, Dr. Tom crawled back into bed. An hour later, he leaned on Nate again to walk out of the sickroom and into the doctor’s visitation room. By the fifth day, Dr. Tom could walk slowly, with only a little assistance, to the stable to see after his horse.

He ran one hand down the horse’s neck and then pointed to his old partner’s bay in the next stall. “He looks good, Nate. Few people could handle him. Has he reached around and bitten you yet?”

Nate smiled. “He tried it a time or two.”

“George had a scar on his thigh as big as Cleveland that he got from the very first day he was out with that big boy.”

Dr. Tom lowered himself onto a crate, supporting his lower ribs with one hand. “This lingering pleurisy is going to be a problem for me.” He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing shallowly, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a vial of dark liquid from which he drank. Holding the vial up to Nate, he said, “As could this.”

Nate frowned. “The doctor said you needed it.”

“The question is for how long, though.”

Dr. Tom sat for a few minutes looking out of the open stable door. “I got wounded at Dove Creek during the war. Caught a ball in the left shoulder. The camp surgeon dug it out but it had broken the collarbone and was painful as hell. We didn’t stop until we got to Mexico, and the only way I could ride was if I had enough laudanum to take the edge off the hurt. It wasn’t but a week before it got its hooks in me. I spent the next few months taking the edge off everything with those little vials. George caught wise and threatened to shoot any doctor who gave me any more. He took me into his home south of Austin and let me stay there until I got well.”

Nate placed another crate next to Dr. Tom and sat down. “Did you ever meet his daughter?”

“Yes.” Dr. Tom looked at Nate. “I married her.”

Nate blinked a few times and raked his hat off his head. There in front of him was the relatedness he had sensed between Deerling and Dr. Tom.

Dr. Tom backhanded the sweat from his eyes. “Oh, it wasn’t a love match, at least not on her part. George thought I could somehow manage to reclaim her, get her to lead a settled life.”

“She agreed to the marriage, though.”

“If you mean did we tie her down and threaten the minister until he performed the ceremony, then no. Deerling knew I’d take care of Lucinda. And I did my best.” He stood up, clung to the boards until his dizziness passed, and again laid a gentling hand on his horse’s neck. “I loved her, and I thought that would be enough.”

Halfway up the street, Dr. Tom staggered but waved away Nate’s offer of a supporting arm. He said, “Nate, you’re a good nurse and you’ve been a good friend. But the next time you try holding me up, I’m going to flatten you.”

Five days later, Dr. Tom settled his accounts with the doctor, and he and Nate walked to the stable to retrieve their horses. Their plan was to travel in a wide arc so they could enter the town of Lynchburg not from the ferry side at the south but from the north, and under cover of darkness. It would take them the entire day and part of the night, crossing spongy wet ground and several smaller bayou rivers, but Dr. Tom wanted to give them every advantage should they find McGill’s men in town.

They breached the narrow, sandy-bottomed banks of the San Jacinto at its narrows and turned south at sunset, the clouds to their right hanging almost vertically in the sky like a curtain. Dr. Tom had been quiet most of the day, conserving his strength, but his eyes, sunken from exhaustion and opiates, reflected the yellow light dully, like a shot glass underwater. They stopped to rest for a few hours a mile from town, making a low fire so they could brew enough coffee to keep them awake.

Nate had seen Dr. Tom drink from the laudanum flask several times during the day, and the ranger poured some of the dark liquid into his coffee cup, then drained it in a few swallows. He saw Nate watching him but offered no commentary. They drifted off to a half sleep, huddling under their long coats in the night air, but covered over the fire at the sky’s lightening murk in the east.

They tied their horses to a stand of trees, took with them short lengths of rope, and walked past a few small houses at the edge of town. Arriving at the stable, Dr. Tom kicked at the door, rousing the stable boy, who asked, in Spanish, who was there.

Dr. Tom kicked at the door again and said,
“Federales.”

They saw lantern light appear from one of the small windows, and when the door finally eased open, they slipped inside. Dr. Tom asked the boy,
“¿Tienes una yegua grulla aquí?”

The boy hesitated, but finally pointed to a far stall. Nate walked to the back of the barn and saw the gray mare standing quietly. He turned and nodded to his partner.

Dr. Tom pulled out a coin and gave it to the boy.
“¿Dónde está el hombre ahora?”

The boy looked at the two of them for a moment, brows knit, but answered,
“En el hotel.”

Dr. Tom put a finger to his lips in warning and they left, crossing the street to the hotel. The door was locked but a low window, its bottom frame flush with the porch, was not. Dr. Tom eased it open, slid a shabby armchair aside, and the two of them stepped into the darkened lobby.

The night clerk was asleep at the desk with his head on his arms, and Dr. Tom took another coin out of his pocket and began tapping it on the desk. The clerk came awake with a start and, seeing the two strangers standing in the ill-lit room, began buttoning his collar, muttering, “I’m sorry, gentlemen. We’re closed right now. The door should have been locked.”

Dr. Tom scanned the lobby quickly and turned back to the clerk. “We’re not here for a room.”

“What are you here for?” The clerk looked nervously at Nate and the rope he was carrying.

“Information,” Dr. Tom said, his voice low.

“What kind of information?”

“William Estes McGill. Innis Crenshaw. Jacob Purdy. Any of those men staying here?”

The clerk had started shaking his head even before Dr. Tom finished speaking. “Look, you should leave.”

“One of the men rides a grulla mare that happens to be in the stable down the street.”

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to have to call the sheriff.”

Tom placed his Colt revolver on the desk. “You don’t have a sheriff here. Nor do you have a marshal; he’s in Harrisburg. But what we do have is a Texas state policeman.”

“A what?”

“A Texas state policeman.” Dr. Tom pointed to Nate, who opened his coat to show his badge.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Have you heard of the governor of Texas?”

“Yes, of course I have. Governor Davis.”

“Well, then, you ignorant son of a bitch, this is one of the governor’s hounds, newly appointed judge, jury, and executioner, at his discretion. He’s been empowered to act with or without all local officers of the peace. So, if you don’t want to be taken out and hanged right now for obstructing state business, you’ll give me an answer.”

“Who’re you?”

“I’m the one that gets to tie the rope.”

The clerk swiveled his head from one man to the other. “You won’t waken the other guests?”

Dr. Tom tucked the pistol back into his belt. “We’ll be as quiet as the grave.”

The clerk pointed above his head with one finger. “Innis Crenshaw. Room twelve. Up the stairs and to the left. The other two are gone. Both of them.”

“If you’ve lied to us, or if you make any noise, you’re dead.” Dr. Tom held out his hand. “Key.”

The clerk slipped a master key out from under the desk and handed it to Nate. A window at the top of the stairs showed the sky beginning to turn more gray than black. The men climbed the stairs and walked quietly down the hall to room
1
2.

Dr. Tom pressed his ear to the door for a few moments, then nodded for Nate to unlock it. The door hinges squeaked, but the form lying in the bed across the room, mouth open, arms flung wide, did not stir. The sleeping man woke only to the unmistakable clicking from the hammer on the navy Colt being cocked and readied at his head.

Dr. Tom said, “Hello, Innis. Nate, take that rope and tie his hands together.”

Nate tied Crenshaw’s hands tightly in back and pulled him off the bed, then gagged him with a strip torn from a shirt thrown to the floor. After gathering up Crenshaw’s pistols and boots, they walked him barefoot down the stairs.

As they passed the desk clerk, Dr. Tom tossed him the key and told him, “You can go back to sleep now.”

They collected the grulla mare at the stable, and, once they’d heaved Crenshaw into his saddle, they rode north again along the San Jacinto for several hours before stopping in the shade of some oak trees. Dr. Tom dismounted, yanked Crenshaw from the saddle, and threw him roughly to the ground. He hunkered down and studied the prisoner, saw the gag pulling the corners of his lips grotesquely back from his teeth. Crenshaw’s eyes above his beaked nose were alternately frightened and enraged; his black hair, long and pomaded to a greasy sheen, spread out wildly over the ground.

To Nate, he looked like a tethered stud horse about to be gelded.

Dr. Tom stood back up and motioned Nate to walk with him out of earshot. The ranger’s face was shaded gray from lack of sleep, and more disturbing to Nate was knowing how much of the laudanum bottle had been emptied since leaving Houston.

Dr. Tom began searching for something in his saddle pack. “You remember Maynard Collie?”

Nate nodded uneasily. A vivid image of Collie’s lifeless feet and blue lips came to mind. For the first time in a good while, he thought of the cyanide-filled rifle cartridge in his own pack.

“George spent less than half an hour with him and got him to swallow poison.” Dr. Tom pulled from the pack his medical kit and turned to face Nate. “You know how he did that?”

“I imagine with threats.”

Dr. Tom nodded. “He threatened his wife.”

“His wife?” Nate thought of Maynard’s crimes, brutally murdering prostitutes, and had a hard time believing that a man like that would have a weakness for any woman.

“George threatened to shoot her. She was the only one that meant anything to Maynard.”

“Would he have done it?”

“He only had to convince Maynard that he would.”

“What’s his weakness?” Nate nodded to the prisoner.

Dr. Tom looked over at Crenshaw, who had worked himself up to a sitting position, his darting eyes evaluating the options for escape. “His vanity.”

Dr. Tom opened the medical kit, revealing a neat array of scalpels, lancets, and probes slotted into green felt. “Nate, you’re either in this, or you’re out. If you feel your resolve fading, just think of that woman and the children of hers that he helped to murder.”

He closed the case and directed Nate to drag and tie Crenshaw to a tree.

Dr. Tom crouched close to Crenshaw, setting the medical kit down where the prisoner could see it. He placed his hat carefully aside and said, “Innis, I’m not going to bother asking you right away to tell me the whereabouts of Purdy or McGill because I know it’d be a waste of my time. Isn’t that right?”

Crenshaw moved his tongue against the gag, exhaling air.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. I say this because I know that you know if McGill found out you’d given us his whereabouts, he’d shoot you in the gut and leave you to die a long, slow death. A man can take a whole day to die from a gunshot wound to the belly. It’s painful, no doubt. But there are worse things.”

Dr. Tom opened the kit. “I want you to think on what I’m going to tell you, and I want you to look at my face to know that what I’m saying is true.”

Crenshaw’s eyes tracked back and forth between Dr. Tom’s face and the kit.

“I went to medical school a while back, and I’ve had occasion to use those skills from time to time. And it’s left an impression on me of just how much suffering a human body can endure before expiring.

“During the war, even though I’m not truly a doctor, I helped saw through shattered arms and legs while the patients were awake, fully aware of their own limbs being hacked off. I once had to remove a woman’s cancerous breast with only a pocket scalpel. The operation lasted for over an hour, her screaming the whole time. It saved her life, but I don’t think that woman ever regained her power of speech.”

Dr. Tom pulled a small scalpel from the box. He spread his fingers close to Crenshaw’s face, placing the edge of the scalpel against the big knuckle of his own first finger.

“Do you know how many nerves are in the human hand, Innis? Thousands. That’s why it hurts so bad when you scald your palm on your mama’s stove. I could sit here and saw on your fingers and hands all day until the only thing left to yank yourself with would be the stumps of your arms. And the beauty of it is, you’d still be alive.”

Crenshaw’s mouth stretched even wider, chuffing out air, and Nate realized he was laughing, or trying to.

“So here’s what I’m going to do for you, Innis. I’m going to remove the gag and you’re going to tell me where McGill has gone, and I give you my word I won’t hurt you.”

Dr. Tom untied the gag from Crenshaw’s mouth.

“You go to hell.” Crenshaw worked his mouth, spitting and hawking. “I tell you where McGill is and you’ll hang me. Besides, you don’t scare me with your talk, you runty little bastard—”