 
Thistles and Thorns

By Bobby A. Troutt

Copyright 2011 Bobby A. Troutt

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Masquerade

Bay Point Island

Wages of Sin

The Caw of the Crow

Weeping Waters

Masquerade

It had been three years since the attack on Pearl Harbor and its after-effects were still being felt. The war in the South Pacific was taking its toll. The people back home prayed for the soldiers and their loved ones to return home safely.

In New Orleans, Mardi Gras was in full swing. As some of the city slept, street dancing, music, and laughter lasted from sunrise to sunset. Parades of floats adorned with confetti covered Bourbon Street.

At Mardi Gras, you could unlock the chains of life and be free to follow your desires. The festivities lasted all week, and Cajun food in the French Quarter fueled the excitement.

My name is John Oliver Towns. After I retired, my wife, Elizabeth, and I moved here from up north. I have always loved the south with its slower pace and laid back atmosphere. Last year I sold my business to my partner for a substantial amount of money. Elizabeth and I are now financially stable and should never have a need for anything. I still do some consulting work, from time to time, to get out of the house.

I've worked hard all my life and I'm tired of working so hard. At fifty-three I am ready for retirement. I want to enjoy life to the fullest. That's what brought us here to New Orleans. Besides, I love Cajun food!

We love to dance, laugh and enjoy the southern charm. This is living the good life.

Mardi Gras was all I thought it could be and more. The twist of jazz, along with the parade, worked its way down Bourbon Street as we watched in amazement. That's when I saw her across the street.

Her smile was like morning sunshine piercing the blue sky. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was radiant and young. I slightly tilted my head and thought to myself, "That's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." She looked back at me with that same smile. My eyes dropped; I didn't want to stare. When I looked back up again, she was gone. My thoughts silenced quickly when I felt Elizabeth tugging on my arm.

"Look, honey," she said pointing to a passing float.

I looked and automatically replied, "Yes, dear," but my mind was still on her.

We made our way down the enchanting street, and I wondered if I would ever see her again. However, the chance of that was probably one in a million. I was bewitched by that one glimpse with a foolish childlike crush. She had been masquerading as a princess, and I was dressed in black.

"Look, John," said Elizabeth. "It's the Lobster Trap. I heard they have the best gumbo there. Let's grab a bite to eat, okay?"

"Sure honey, sounds good."

We made our way over to the Lobster Trap. My mouth watered thinking of the gumbo. We went in, sat down, and ordered. Eating that food was like heaven on earth. From there we made our way home.

At dawn the next morning, she was still on my mind. That night and the next Elizabeth and I romantically roamed Bourbon Street and the French Quarter. We ate, drank, and were merry until way after midnight, caring nothing about what tomorrow would bring.

We lived on black beans, jambalaya, crawfish, Cajun rice, and fried okra. Every day was an adventure, and every night lead to a mystery. It was the last night of Mardi Gras, and we were getting ready to go out when suddenly Elizabeth came down with an awful headache. I told her we didn't have to go, that we could stay home. But she insisted I go on, and she would stay home and rest. I told her I would be in early. Dressed that night as a tall, dark stranger, I had no idea what lay ahead. "New Orleans, you're mine for tonight!" I cried as I danced about the street, keeping step with the sounds of the music, gathering beads, and inhaling Cajun food.

After a while, my age started catching up with me, so I decided to slip into Joe Johnson's Bar and Grill to rest my tired feet. The place was packed and you could cut the smoke with a knife. Making my way up to the bar to sit down, I ordered my drink, a double. On stage, a young talented jazz band played while customers were sitting around eating. I guzzled the first double and asked the bartender to get me another one. The food smelled great, and the music was tops. As I sipped on my second double, I spotted her across the room sitting with a man in a booth. She hadn't seen me. I quietly observed as the second double shot went down. She was as I had pictured her the first time. She seemed so full of life, energetic, and her joy seemed so pure. I asked the bartender if he knew her, and he told me he did.

"Her name is Magnolia," he said. "She comes in quite often, and that man she is with is her pimp, Benny."

"Her pimp?"

"Sure, Magnolia is a prostitute," he clarified, "a call girl. Do you want to meet her?"

"Oh, no," I replied. "I was just wondering who she was."

As I turned to leave, she saw me. Our eyes met in the middle of the room, and the moments seemed to last a lifetime as my feelings stirred. I motioned for the bartender to bring me another double. Benny noticed our eye contact and sat motionless for a moment, but soon came over to me and introduced himself. After we talked, he motioned for Magnolia to come over. He introduced us. We both said, "Hi."

"I hope you will forgive me for staring," I apologized.

"I will if you forgive me first," she responded.

From there the night was young. We talked until the early morning hours.

"You know, we have sat here all night and I still don't know your name," she stated.

"Let's keep it like that," I insisted. "Like a mystery."

"Ah, you like intrigue," she purred. "I like that."

"May I see you again?" I asked her as I gathered my things.

"Sure," she answered. "Like a regular thing."

"Maybe," he said. "I'll see. How much do I owe you?"

She made her way over to me and rested her hands upon my chest. "Conversation—nothing, company—well, I'll see if you liked it enough to come back," she whispered as she slipped a card into my coat pocket. "The next time we'll do less talking."

When I got home, Elizabeth was waiting for me.

"Where on earth have you been?" she asked. "I have been worried to death."

"Oh, I'm fine," I said. "I got to talking to some people and lost track of time."

"I was about to call the police," she cried.

"Everything is alright," I assured her. "What about you?"

"Well, I took a couple of pills for my headache," she explained. "I slept most of the night."

"That's good," I replied.

"Did you have fun?" she inquired as she poured the orange juice.

"Yes, I guess you can say that," I responded. "I brought you some more beads."

"Oh, thank you, James," she said as she placed them around her neck. She eased over to him and whispered in his ear as she slightly bit it, "My headache is gone."

As Elizabeth made her play on me, I couldn't help but think about Magnolia, but Elizabeth lingered in the back of my mind. I was being torn between the two. I quickly wrapped my arms around her and held her close. I didn't want to let go because I knew if I did she would be gone forever. We turned back the covers and slipped into bed.

That day, Elizabeth and I sat on our front porch sipping lemonade and relaxing. We love our retirement home in the Roundtree Estates. The neighbors are great around Gribbs Drive in the city of Le'mon, across the river from New Orleans in the Victorian Parish. Elizabeth and I spend time together shopping, gardening, and doing some remodeling. But no matter how hard I try to block Magnolia out of my mind, I can't forget the time we spent together.

Magnolia is thirty-six and I'm fifty-three. Somehow it doesn't seem right, but it didn't seem to matter. After a few weeks, I couldn't fight it any longer. I had to see her, and I did. From that time on, I was with her often. It was the start of a masquerade adventure that would turn my world upside down. My life had unexpectedly become enchanted with her. As the months passed, I told Elizabeth more and more lies of doing consulting work in New Orleans to be with Magnolia. Elizabeth was no fool, and I knew that. I'm sure she suspected, but she held back. Could it be the change of life? Could it be something missing in my life, or was it simply sin?

I dropped by to see Magnolia that evening. I found her waiting for me dressed in a negligee that trimmed the shape of her body like I had never dreamed of. Her radiant glow drew me. She was silent as I stood before her. Slowly, she turned toward the bedroom, tilted her body slightly as her covering fell to the floor. My heart raced as I gazed upon her beauty. I felt so young, innocent, and enchanted that I followed her in and closed the door. That night our souls entangled in forbidden love that would bring us even closer than we had ever imagined.

Little did I know, at the same time we lay making love, I was being watched from across the street. I would find out later that Elizabeth had hired a private detective to follow me.

The rest of the evening, Magnolia and I talked. She told me she was from Mississippi. That's where she got her street name. I asked about her family, and she told me her daddy was dead, but her mother was still living in the old home place. I also learned she had no brothers or sisters. Out of curiosity, I asked how she became a prostitute. She disclosed how her stepfather raped her; it started from there.

"Whenever he wanted me he took me. I ran away from home and lived in Houston for awhile, then Galveston. I couldn't find a job because I was too young. Benny took me in when I came to New Orleans."

"Did your mother know?" I asked.

"No, she never knew," she responded. "She told me he left not long after I did. He tried to find me, but he never did. His body was found burned in an old abandoned warehouse. My locket, the one he had jerked from my neck the last time he touched me, was in his hand."

I reached over, hugged her and told her none of that mattered to me. Our love would get us through it, and that's what mattered. She wanted to know about me.

"There's not much to tell," I lied.

"Sure there is," she insisted. "Everyone has a dark side. Life is a masquerade. You put on your happy face when you go out into the world, but your real face is covered from your hurt, pain and anguish."

"I guess there is a little something there," I said. "Elizabeth and I could never have children. I wanted a child, but I was so busy in my work I felt it would be a drawback. She always wanted a child, but she couldn't have one. We tossed the idea around for years."

"Why didn't you adopt?" she inquired.

"Adoption would have been okay," I said, "but I didn't think it was the right time. Now, we are too old to raise a child."

The day lingered on as we talked. We laughed and we cried. We were friends, something I guess Elizabeth and I had never been. Somehow, some way time had slipped by and it was time for me to leave.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked.

I thought a moment and replied, "No, not tomorrow. I need to stay around the house some. But, I'll call."

As she reached up and kissed me goodbye, I immediately began thinking of reasons for being gone so long—something that Elizabeth would believe and accept. What would that be I thought, "An old friend dropped by and took me out to lunch. We got to talking and time slipped by. I don't know," I thought, "I'm getting too old for this masquerade bit."

Not long after I left Magnolia's someone knocked at her door. She thought I had come back. She opened the door without hesitation; two policemen had come by to ask her some questions. At first she didn't tell me. As they talked, the officers showed her three photographs of three men. They asked her if she recognized them. Carefully, she looked at the pictures and acknowledged they looked familiar. She told them she may have seen them in a bar and asked what they had done?

"They're dead," stated the policeman.

"I don't understand!" she cried. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Their bodies were found not far from here and each one had this card in his pocket," replied the other officer.

The officer showed her the card which had her name, address, and phone number on it.

"That doesn't mean anything!" she cried. "They could have gotten that card anywhere."

"We only wanted you to be aware," said the officers, "and to be careful. These men are connected to you some way, and we plan to find out how. Good day," they said as they turned to leave.

Magnolia evidently told me about the officers coming by. I guess it didn't matter. It was summertime in New Orleans, and it was the time to live it up. For the next few months, Magnolia and I spent a great deal of time together. I filled her apartment with flowers and gifts. We ate at some of the finest Cajun restaurants. She loved crawfish, shrimp, and jambalaya. My favorite was gumbo. That summer in New Orleans was one of the best times I'd had in years.

I told Magnolia one day that I had to fly to Nashville for a conference meeting with a business acquaintance. I would be gone for two weeks, and I asked her to go with me or if she would fly up later, but she couldn't. She seemed a little distant, bothered by something. However, she did tell me something the day I left for Nashville.

She whispered in my ear, "I have a surprise for you when you get back."

I laughed, hugged her, and replied, "You're full of surprises, girl."

As the plane rose into the air, she headed back to her apartment. The two weeks ahead would seem like countless hours of endless days. Elizabeth didn't come with me. She had been feeling bad lately and hadn't been herself. Something was bothering her and I hoped she hadn't found out about Magnolia.

Later on that day, as Magnolia waited at home for my call, there came a knock at her door. As she cracked the door slightly she saw Elizabeth, my wife.

"We have to talk," Elizabeth demanded. "Open this damn door."

"We don't have anything to talk about," Magnolia responded. "I'm expecting someone."

"It's not James!" she yelled. "You whore. He's in Nashville, remember."

Magnolia reached up and took the chain from the door.

"I don't know what you're talking about, coming in here calling me a whore!" shouted Magnolia.

"You don't know what I'm talking about?" screamed Elizabeth. "Sleeping with my husband, you don't know about that? Do you think I'm stupid? I've had you followed for a long time now. I know all about your little rendezvous, your dinners, and night flings. I know about the baby, too."

"Baby!" cried Magnolia.

"Yes, you're pregnant," hollered Elizabeth. "I know about your visits to Dr. Garrett at that little dark clinic downtown. Are you going to have the baby or abort it? I'm not going to sit around and let you claim that James is the baby's father and take the money we have worked all our lives to get."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and besides, it's none of your damn business," said Magnolia.

"I make it my damn business when it's my husband!" screamed Elizabeth.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" shouted Magnolia.

"I know a whole lot more than you realize. I guess James told you why we can't have children. It is because of me. Wrong, the reason we don't have children is because of him. He can't have children. James always blames me because the truth hurts his manhood. But James is the reason, not me. Pick one of your other Johns to be the child's daddy. He didn't want to adopt children because he was always so busy. James had no time for family or me. So if you got some big idea of having his baby, then you're headed down the wrong path."

"But, but he said...," stuttered Magnolia.

"James says a lot of things," replied Elizabeth. "He's a man. I bet he said he loved you; I hear it, too." As Elizabeth looked about the room, she saw all the pretty flowers and gifts. "I get roses all the time from him. James loves to spend money. What will it be? Are you going to have the child, give the child up for adoption, blackmail, or what?"

"I want my child," she said, "even if James is not the father."

"Who is the real daddy," questioned Elizabeth, "some two bit John on the street or somebody else's husband? I knew when I found your card in his coat pocket this was going to be a mess. Do you know how I know? You think you're the first whore he's been with? I have done this several times through the years. You're no more than another card in his pocket."

"What do you want to do?" asked Magnolia.

"I'll tell you what I will do if you leave my husband alone. I'm willing to offer you fifty thousand dollars to leave New Orleans and never come back. You can stay at the Rock Spring Home for Unwed Mothers outside of Baton Rouge until the baby is born, then give it up for adoption to the Winding Way Orphanage. When you give the baby up, you'll receive another fifty thousand. Then you can find somewhere else to lay on your back and make a living if you want to. But if you dare say anything to James about this, accidents do happen. Lord forbid if anything happens to that precious 'love child,' so you say."

"I don't know what to do," cried Magnolia. "I'm confused. May I have some time?" she asked.

"You've got forty-eight hours," warned Elizabeth. "Think about it this way, you can do quite a bit with one-hundred thousand dollars. Besides it's not even James's baby. You really don't know who the daddy is. Call me."

As Elizabeth left, hurt and broken, Magnolia didn't know what to believe or what to do. All she could think was that Elizabeth was evil. She had to protect her baby and herself. Then the phone rang, startling her. "Probably James," she thought, but she never answered the phone. Throughout the night she lay awake, tossing and turning with the things Elizabeth had said echoing in her mind. She was afraid, broken, hurt and desperate. It was her first child and she wished it were James'. "If James isn't the daddy, then who is? I need to tell Benny," she thought. "No, I can't. Oh, God, what do I need to do?"

The long night brought an early morning with a knock at the door. It was a John. As she escorted him in, she quickly took a bath and hurried to get ready.

"What's your going price?" he asked as he waved some big bills in front of her eyes.

"Oh, that will do fine," she replied and took it from his hand.

"What's your pleasure?" she questioned.

"The house special," he responded, "but nothing too wild."

He took her into his arms; his hands searched her, finding their way about her. She leaned her head onto his shoulders and began to smell his hair; she recalled the bad memories of her distant past. Willfully she made the motions as he followed suit. The closer he got, she realized she was making a mistake. There was something wrong. Abruptly, she pushed him away. He continued kissing her, throwing her onto the bed. He never said a word, but kept advancing against her wishes.

"No, no!" she screamed as she struggled to get out from under him.

His whispery voice called, "Misty."

"What'd you call me?" she asked as she kept fighting him.

"Misty," he replied.

"But no one except my mother ever called me that! Oh, no, let go of me! Get off me you son-of-a-bitch."

"Now, now Misty," he replied. "You behave yourself like a good little girl, and it will be like old times."

She started screaming, but he covered her mouth with his hand. She tried to fight back, but he overpowered her. She bit his hand and he screamed, "Damn it, Misty, you're mine."

He took his fist and struck her in the face, knocking her out. As she lay across the bed unconscious, he had his way with her then her stepdad put on his clothes. Next, he reached for the money on the dresser and stuffed it into his pocket.

"That's my homecoming present," he laughed. "I'll be back for more. I've killed four already, one more won't matter."

Slowly, she eased up off the bed as he slipped out the door. Her life had become a nightmare. Her world had been turned upside down. What was she to do? She knew he'd be back. She reached for the piece of paper with Elizabeth's phone number. She hesitated for a moment as tears filled her eyes. She wanted to call, but she didn't. She thought if she could get away for a while and sort things out, she could figure things out. As tears ran down her face, she dialed the number and placed the receiver to her ear.

"Elizabeth," she said.

"Yes," replied Elizabeth.

"I'm ready to talk."

"Good," said Elizabeth. "You won't be sorry. I'll have everything ready by tonight. I'll pick you up about eight. Keep your mouth shut."

"Okay," replied Magnolia. "I'll be ready."

Magnolia hid in her apartment until she saw Elizabeth pull up. The two hurried off into the night for Baton Rouge.

"You know you're doing the right thing," stated Elizabeth. "You may not see it now but you will."

Magnolia never said a word as she stared out the window.

"What changed your mind?" asked Elizabeth.

"Several things," responded Magnolia. "Are you sure no one will find me here?"

"Trust me," assured Elizabeth. "I've been through this before. When we get there, let me do all the talking."

"What's this?" inquired Magnolia.

"It is part of your money," replied Elizabeth. "You have to stay here until the baby is born. The Winding Way Orphanage takes the babies in and finds them a good home."

"Are you sure?" questioned Magnolia.

"Trust me. They are good people," replied Elizabeth. "Quit worrying. I have taken care of everything."

"Will I get to see and hold my baby?' she asked.

"That won't be possible," said Elizabeth. "It's best that you don't. If you try to back out and try to see James or the baby, I have friends on the inside that have access to your baby. You wouldn't want anything unexpected to happen to your child, would you?"

Magnolia turned and dropped her head. That day Elizabeth saw something in Magnolia's eyes that would haunt her for the rest of her life. They finally reached Rock Spring just outside of Baton Rouge. The home was an old French-style boarding house nestled between giant trees and laced with Spanish moss. It was still early when they arrived. Some of the women sat out in the yard, others on a porch. Magnolia remained silent. She let Elizabeth do all the talking. As they made their way in, Magnolia noticed several pregnant women sitting outside. Some spoke and others smiled. Once inside Elizabeth spoke to the lady in charge. The lady turned to Elizabeth and said with frustration, "James again." Elizabeth nodded her head.

"I'll have a little extra in my donation each month," assured Elizabeth.

"We'll be looking forward to it," replied the lady. "Magnolia, take your things and follow me. I'll show you to your room."

As Elizabeth drove off, she felt a little relief—not much, but some. She still had a long way to go and would have to cross each bridge as it came.

By the end of the second week, I was back and the first place I went was Magnolia's apartment. But, when I got there she was gone. There was no sign of her at all, so I went to talk with the policemen who questioned her earlier. The officers told me about a possible connection with the three murders. They told me they went by her apartment earlier, and it appeared she had left. No one had seen or heard from her in about two weeks. I told them I was just a friend, and that I had been out of town. I had called several times while I was away but could never reach her.

"It appears she may have left town in a hurry. If you hear from her, would you please let us know?" requested the officers.

"Sure. Do you think something has happened to her?" I asked.

"We don't know," they replied, "but we do have three dead bodies, and each one had her card in their pocket," stated the officers.

I didn't know what to think or even believe. I knew she didn't seem right when I left, but I didn't believe it would come to this. "There has to be an explanation," I thought, "and I have to find her to get the answers." I made my way home and Elizabeth greeted me at the door.

"Good trip?" she asked.

"Yes, yes it was," I replied, "a very good trip. Have I had any calls?"

"Just the usual," she replied. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm tired. I think I'll lie down for a while," I said.

"Do you want me to lie down with you?" she suggested.

"No, not now," I grumbled. "I am really tired. We'll talk later."

By early morning I was up and had left the house. Elizabeth was still asleep. On my way into New Orleans, I tried to put the pieces together, but I couldn't. I thought and thought about all the things Magnolia had said, thinking maybe a piece of the puzzle would come together. My first stop was to talk with Benny. If anyone should know, he should.

Carefully, I combed Bourbon Street, spending hours looking. I went over to the French quarter and looked. I asked some of the girls on the street, but they acted like they didn't know him. No one had seen him or Magnolia. It was like they had vanished off the face of the earth. I made my way back to Bourbon Street, and suddenly I saw him. He was talking with the two policemen I had talked with earlier. I patiently waited for them to leave. When I got my chance, I whipped the car back into the traffic. Benny was going into a strip joint. Quickly, I pulled up to the front and got out.

"Benny!" I yelled as he stopped and turned around.

"Hey, man, I've been looking for you!" he yelled.

"Come on, let's get into the car," I motioned.

Once inside he began to yell, "Hey man, what's going on? Where's Magnolia?"

"I don't know," I explained. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"You've seen more of her in the last few months than I have, and you ask me where she is?" cried Benny.

"I don't know where she is!" I exclaimed. "I'm trying to find out."

"The cops are looking for her," he said with concern.

"I know," I replied. "Do you have any idea where I can look—friend or relative?"

"I knew I should have canned your ass from the start," threatened Benny. "But I didn't because of Magnolia. She made me promise to leave you alone."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"A few years ago, Magnolia saved my life in a gang-related incident, and I owe her one. She wanted me to leave you alone so ya'll could spend time together. Now look, I've lost my best whore."  
"If you think of anything, please let me know," I said. "If you hear from her, get in touch with me; here's my number."

"Yeah, man, if you see her, tell her I'm going to break her face for worrying me."

After searching the next few months, nothing turned up but heartache. The more I tried to find her the better Elizabeth hid her. Elizabeth would have been the last person I would have thought to ask. Slowly, the months rolled by into a year. I gave up all hope.

Things seemed to change after that. Elizabeth and I were not as close. For a long time, there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of Magnolia.

Finally, Magnolia had her baby. It was a boy. Although she never saw or held him near her heart, she still longed for him. The day Magnolia was to leave Louisiana, she called her mother.

"Hello," answered her mother.

"Hi, Mom, it's me," she said.

"Misty, is that you?" she questioned.

"Yes, Mama, it's me," Misty replied.

It had been a long time since she had heard a familiar voice. As they talked, her mom told her about what had happened to Charles, her stepdad.

Charles had come home. The police were after him, and he was shot and killed. The officers said he was a suspect in three murders in New Orleans and one in Birmingham. Evidently, Charles had staged his death in a warehouse. They believe the man burned in the building was a homeless man who lived there. The evidence showed the homeless man was already dead when the building burned, and the locket was what led them to Charles.

Magnolia was relieved to hear it was over. She didn't have to keep looking over her shoulder. Maybe now she could go on with her life and even go home to see her mother. As they talked on, they laughed and cried. "It's so good," she thought, "to be free again."

The original agreement between Elizabeth and Magnolia was that Elizabeth would give her fifty thousand dollars when the baby was born, and put her on a plane out of Louisiana. Elizabeth sighed with relief when the baby was born, but only for a moment. Her work was not over. She had to move the baby to another orphanage out of state as quickly as possible in case Magnolia decided to change her mind. Time was of the essence.

Martha was a nurse who worked at the orphanage. She was Elizabeth's inside connection. Martha had already drawn up the falsified papers for Magnolia's baby, and tonight she would make her move. The timing was crucial. Everything had to be just right.

Elizabeth had first met Martha as a nurse at a mental hospital. Several years ago when Elizabeth had a nervous breakdown, after a miscarriage, Martha had slipped her pills for money. Later on, Elizabeth was well enough to go home.

One day, out of the blue, Martha ran into Elizabeth in downtown Baton Rouge. They went out to lunch and talked. Martha had lost her job at the hospital, not long after Elizabeth had gone home, for giving other patients pills. She needed a job and there was an opening for a nurse at Winding Way Orphanage. Martha asked if she could pull some strings for her. Elizabeth told her she would see what she could do.

That night, when it was clear, she took the baby and put him in her car and headed to the Thornhill Orphanage in Wiggins, Tennessee, just outside of Memphis. Martha didn't know there was someone hiding in a room of the orphanage. A set of eyes stared and watched her place the baby in her car. As the window curtain slowly fell back into place, a shadowy figure clicked the light off.

The next day, life went on at the orphanage. As far as everyone knew, Magnolia's baby had been adopted, according to the falsified papers. Martha was on vacation for a few days, Elizabeth was making her move to restore our marriage, and I was still searching for Magnolia.

In Memphis, Martha had presented the baby as hers, and she wanted to give him up for adoption. She had taken the necessary papers she needed with her. She left the baby behind and headed back to Baton Rouge. In a few days, Martha was back at work. She was the only one who knew where the baby really was. Elizabeth told her she didn't want to know, just as long as it was out of the state of Louisiana.

I decided to hire a private detective to find Magnolia. It was like she had completely disappeared off the face of the earth. No one had seen her. The police couldn't find her. If Elizabeth suspected anything she never let on. She was good at that. Elizabeth seemed so happy and carefree, I thought, but a little worried.

Then one day Elizabeth received a phone call.

"You don't know me, Mrs. Towns, but I know you. I know what you did and how you did it," threatened the strange voice.

"Who is this?" she cried out.

The line clicked and the receiver slipped out of Elizabeth's hand onto the table. She knew what they were talking about, but that was not the question. The question was who it was and how they knew. It couldn't be anyone but Martha ... or could it?

Hurriedly, she slipped on her jacket and headed out. On her way to Martha's, Elizabeth racked her brain to come up with a solution to her problem. Why would Martha double cross her? Quickly, she turned her car into Martha's drive. She repeatedly pounded on Martha's front door.

"Who is it?" asked Martha.

"It's me, Martha," Elizabeth replied as Martha unbolted the door.

Elizabeth barged in furiously.

"What the hell have you done?" she yelled.

"What...?" replied Martha. "What are you talking about?"

"Who have you told?" she cried. "I trusted you! I helped you!"

"But, Elizabeth..." she tried to explain. "I haven't told a soul, I promise. Calm down and tell me what you are talking about."

As Elizabeth began to tell her about the phone call, Martha remembered someone looking out the window at the orphanage the night she left.

"Somebody knows," Elizabeth explained. "You and Magnolia are the only two that I know."

"I haven't told anyone," replied Martha, "unless someone found out about the false adoption. But I don't see how; everything went perfectly. What are you going to do?" asked Martha.

"I don't know. They haven't given me any demands. Are you sure you haven't told anyone?" questioned Elizabeth.

"No ma'am," replied Martha.

"Then it must be Magnolia. She must be back," said Elizabeth.

"I didn't believe she would come back," replied Martha. "If James even knew what she had done, he wouldn't want her back."

"James is a damn fool!" exclaimed Elizabeth, "And a blind fool at that. You better hope like hell I never find out you are double crossing me. I'll claw your eyes out."

On the way home all she could think about was James and Magnolia together. Where did I slip up? she thought. The first thing she thought of was that she should have never offered her money. I should have let her stepfather take care of her. The old two-bit hood I hired to kill those two clients of Magnolia's. How would I have ever known that he was her stepfather?

It had been a few days since the first call when late one evening the phone rang. Elizabeth grabbed it before the second ring.

"Hello," she answered.

"Is this Elizabeth?" the voice asked.

"Yes it is," she replied. "What the hell do you want? What will it take to get rid of you?"

"Now, Elizabeth, there's no need for you to get upset and cuss," said the voice. "I just wanted to remind you that I know what you did and how you did it. Do I need to say anymore?"

Click went the phone as they hung up.

"Damn!" she cried out as she slammed the phone down on the table.

"Who was it?" I asked as I came into the room. "Elizabeth, you're shaking. Is everything alright? Is there something wrong?"

The phone rang again. She and I slapped our hands around the receiver at the same time. She looked at me; I looked at her. I carefully removed her hand and told her that I had it. She looked puzzled and at a loss for words as I started to answer. But it only rang once. I chuckled and told her it was probably a wrong number.

"Hurry up and get dressed. I'm taking you out for supper," I told her.

A cold, clammy fear ran over her. Was it James? Did he know? Was it both of them? She wondered what on earth was going to happen next.

As the evening passed, Elizabeth and I sat down to a luxurious Cajun meal in the French Quarter. We didn't have all that much to say. I guess she felt bad, and I had a lot on my mind. She did tell me that she had a doctor's appointment in two weeks. I guess it wasn't anything I needed to be concerned about. She immediately let me know everything was fine. It was just a routine checkup. Suddenly, someone paged her name over the speakers of the restaurant. I raised my hand and motioned toward our table. The waiter worked his way over and told her she had a phone call at the front desk.

"Who in the world would call me here?" she said. "How did..."

"Oh, Elizabeth, that doesn't matter now, just go to the phone," I replied. "It may be important."

As she made her way to the front desk, I thought, "Sometimes she acts like she has seen a ghost."

Hesitantly, she picked up the phone and put it to her ear.

"Hello," she answered. "This is Mrs. Towns."

"I know who you are," said the voice sarcastically, "and I know what you did and how you did it."  
"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"That's not important, is it?" replied the voice.

"What do you want?" she questioned, "and how much?"

"I want one hundred thousand dollars," demanded the voice.

"I don't have that kind of money just lying around!" she exclaimed.

"Shut up and listen to me. I want four twenty-five thousand dollar payments packaged in four separate boxes. I want them mailed one at a time to the name and address that I will give you later. Each box will be mailed on a different day and month. I will give you those dates later."

"But—but..." cried Elizabeth.

"There are no buts. Either you send the money like I say, or your husband will know what you did and how you did it."

Click!

As Elizabeth pulled herself together she thought about the demands and how it was a different voice this time.

When Elizabeth got back to the table I could tell she was a little uptight. I noticed her hands trembling a little.

"Honey, are you alright?" I inquired.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied.

"Maybe you should go see the doctor," I suggested. "It might be a good thing."

"Oh, I'm fine," she said. "Don't worry about me."

"Who was it?" I asked.

"Who was who?" she responded.

"On the phone," I said.

"Oh, that," she laughed. "It wasn't for me. Someone wanted Elizabeth Tams, not Towns."

"Oh, I see," I replied. "What about after supper we take a walk down Bourbon Street?"

"That will be nice," she said with a smile.

Who knew who we might run into?

New Orleans was beautiful at night. The sounds of jazz dancing off the midnight sky, and the smell of Cajun food warming the air made it quite a romantic evening.

"We ought to let it all out and flow with the moment," I said to Elizabeth, "and enjoy what time we have left."

That night we waltzed with the steps of jazz, but ballet was in our hearts. It had been a long time since Elizabeth and I were this close. Maybe I was an old fool with boyish dreams. Little did we know the dance that night would revive a romance that had been overlooked for too many years.

The next two weeks were dreams come true. Elizabeth had gone to the doctor and was told everything looked good, but should return in six months. We talked more in those two weeks than we had since we first got married. Life seemed like it was turning around for us. I had about given up hope of seeing Magnolia again. It wasn't that she couldn't be found; I believe she didn't want to be found. I guess it was for the best.

Out of the blue one day, while Elizabeth sat on the front porch, a little boy on a bicycle came up to her.

"Mrs. Towns," he said.

"Why, yes," she replied.

"Here's something for you," he said as he took off on his bike.

"But—wait a minute!" she cried.

Slowly, she opened it. It was a letter from the blackmailer. She jumped up and ran out into the yard, but there was no one. The blackmailers wanted twenty-five thousand dollars in cash—small bills, boxed, and packaged in brown paper sent to—Home of Innocence, P.O. Box 1213, Atlanta, Georgia, 34170. She was instructed to make four deliveries on the following dates: May 23, July 18, September 4, and November 31. If any one of the drops was not delivered on time, without the money or short, Mr. Towns would have to make a sudden trip to Atlanta. The letter also stated they would be watching, and if she told anyone or the police got involved there could be a deadly accident with Mr. Towns in Atlanta.

Angrily, Elizabeth gritted her teeth. She started to wad the paper in her hands but stopped.

"Damn it, I wish I knew!" she angrily shouted.

She stopped and began to think. "Things with James are so great now," she thought. "I can't afford to mess them up now. I'll go ahead and pay for the sake of having a life together, but I hope to hell I never find out who they are."

Elizabeth did as they requested. Things were too good with James, and she had worked too long and too hard to mess them up.

Little did Elizabeth know the blackmail money she was paying would go to an Atlanta post office box with a forwarding address. It would be sent from Atlanta back to a post office box in Shreveport, Louisiana, belonging to a Denise Johnson, the younger sister of Martha. Both of them worked at the orphanage until she and Martha were caught falsifying adoption papers. Denise was the one looking out the window watching Martha's getaway. This wasn't Magnolia's baby but another one. The orphanage didn't want the scandal to get out so they decided to keep it hush-hush. There was no way they could tell how many documents had been falsified. They fired the two sisters, and Martha and Denise moved back home to Shreveport to enjoy Elizabeth's money.

Elizabeth was on top of the world. It was like the Lord had given her a second chance in life. Who would have ever thought that falling in love a second time would be so great? Time soon passed and the month seemed endless, so perfect and wonderful. It seemed like she was living the first day of the rest of her life. Down the road Elizabeth's joy and happiness would soon be robbed with a visit to the doctor.

"It can't be!" she cried. "Not now!"

"Calm down, Mrs. Towns, and let me explain it to you," replied the doctor. "You have cancer. There's no cure for it, but there are treatments."

"But, Dr. Jones, I don't want to die!" she cried. "There's got to be something you can do."

"There are some new treatments we might try, but there's no guarantee," he said. "We can try a series of them to see how it goes, but only if you want to."

"How long do I have," she asked, "without the treatments?"

"A year at the most," he answered. "With the treatments you may have a month or two longer. It's all still experimental."

"Dr. Jones, I don't want you to say anything to James," she pleaded. "I want to tell him myself when I feel the time is right."

"Sure," he agreed. "I understand. But let me know about the treatments so we can get you started on them as quickly as possible."

"I will," she consented as she broke down crying.

"Here's a prescription for some medicine that will help with the pain," he said. "I'll see you in two weeks."

"Maybe," she mumbled as she left the room.

When she got home, James was not there. She collapsed on the couch and began to cry.

"Why! Why me? Why now, God? Please don't let me die, " she screamed as she began throwing things. "I promise, Lord, I'll straighten up! Please, God, don't take this away from me!"

She fell to the floor.

As she laid there in a puddle of tears she cried out, "Damn it."

A short time later, she picked herself up. "I can beat this thing," she said to herself. "I'm tough. I can make it work. I can do anything I want to when I put my mind to it, even cheat death." She straightened up a bit and began to feel stronger.

"What did the doctor say?" I asked Elizabeth as I came through the door.

"Oh, he said everything was fine," she answered.

"Did you ask him about those weak spells and being sick to your stomach?" I questioned.

"Oh, yeah, he said it was probably a bug because I wasn't sleeping very soundly," she explained. "He wants me to try some new medication to help me sleep at night."

"How do you feel about spending the weekend on the Gulf?" I asked.

"This weekend?" she responded.

"Sure, this weekend," I laughed. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, no," she answered. "Everything is fine. I want to get a new bathing suit for the beach."

"That will be great," I replied. "It has been a while."

"I know," she said, "too long."

I don't know if it was Elizabeth or me, but I had Magnolia in the back of my mind while I was with her. Right now it really didn't seem to matter. We were happy for the first time in a long time. Unknown to us, the weekend ahead would take us on a romantic rendezvous vacation around the country over the next few months. From San Francisco to Chicago, Boston, and New York, from city to city we were like young teens on a first date. By the time we were back home in New Orleans, Elizabeth had gotten worse. For the next few days she lay in bed as I sat by her side. She wouldn't let me call the doctor. She said it was all the excitement from our vacation that had worn her down; she would bounce back in a few days.

I never thought that dreams came true. I'm talking about the ones so impossible, unreal, wanted and desired, especially people my age. But God sometimes answers prayers, even when you're not always at your best. I'll never forget it as long as I live, Elizabeth and I in love again.

Elizabeth was asleep, and I slept too, in a chair beside her bed. Startled, I awoke as I felt someone staring at me. I slowly opened my eyes; Elizabeth was looking at me with the most pleasant smile I had ever seen. She reached over and took my hand, and said to me, "Lean over a bit, honey, I want to tell you something." Carefully, I eased over to the edge of the bed to her and she said, "I want a child." I didn't know what to say. A big lump came up in my throat as a tiny tear ran out of the corner of my eye.

"A child," I said.

"Yes, dear, I want a child," she replied.

I took a deep breath as my head fell into my hands. I couldn't help it, but I started to cry. Gently she ran her fingers through my hair. As I laughed and cried, I didn't know what to say or how to feel. I was so happy.

"What does a daddy feel like?" she asked.

Before she could say another word, I yelled out, "It feels good!"

"Tomorrow," she said, "we'll check with the adoption agency and see what we need to do."

I reached over, kissed, and hugged her. I told her that I loved her.

"I love you, too," she replied.

It was early the next morning, and I had to go to New Orleans for some business. Elizabeth was up and feeling better. The phone rang and she reached to answer it.

"Hello," she answered.

"Mrs. Towns," said a voice.

"Yes, this is she," she replied.

"This is Jim at the bank. You asked me to notify you when the marked money started to appear."

"So they have finally started spending the money," she replied.

"Yes, ma'am, there has been a little of it turning up in Shreveport," he stated.

"Do you know who it is?" she questioned.

"No, not yet," he said, "but we are working on it. It was a good thing you marked the money," he explained. "That'll help make it easier to trace."

"Keep on top of it, and keep me posted," she instructed, "and keep your mouth shut until I tell you different."

"You got it, Mrs. Towns," he agreed.

Click.

By the time James returned, Elizabeth was ready to go. I was so excited, I was jittery inside. She was excited, too. That was all we could talk about. There were two orphanages in New Orleans and one in Baton Rouge.

"Where do you want to go first?" I asked.

We spent the next two days visiting the ones in New Orleans. It was amazing the number of children without homes. We really didn't know which one to choose. We wished we could give them all homes, but we couldn't

I thought about a boy, but Elizabeth leaned more toward a girl. I guess that was natural. We didn't want one too old or too young. I guess one about three or four would be nice. It was amazing to see all the little faces with lonely smiles. There were some with lots of troubles and others with handicaps. But they were all wanting to be loved and be a part of someone's life.

After our interviews, we spent time with the children, looking and talking with them. We played with some, but I was a little too old for some things.

Considering our ages and situation, money does talk. It talks loud when you want it to. They told us they didn't see a problem with us adopting, especially when I mentioned a new wing could be added on the orphanage. But after hours and hours of time spent in New Orleans, our child just wasn't there. Elizabeth had some favorites, but I wasn't pulled in the same direction as her. The week soon passed so we thought we would try the orphanage in Baton Rouge. Maybe we would find our God-sent child there.

After arriving, it didn't take long for me to make up my mind. After about an hour there, I was ready to go. I didn't have too much to say about it. On our way home we sat quietly. Things seemed so hopeless; our dreams seemed shattered. But, I wasn't ready to give up. I am a firm believer that where there's a will there's a way.

After we got back home, Elizabeth needed to lie down for a while. She was so tired, uneasy, and frightened. She was awfully weak and growing frail. The next couple of days while Elizabeth rested, I went into the city to work. While at work, I started talking to one of my young executives about adopting. I told him about our venture in New Orleans and Baton Rouge. Then he told me about out-of-state adoption. He said he grew up in an orphanage outside of Memphis in a little town called Wiggins in Tubbs County.

"You might have something there," I replied. "I never thought about going out of state. What's the name of the orphanage?"

"It's called Thornhill Orphanage. It's a good place with caring people."

"How long were you there?" I asked.

"Until I was fourteen—my parents were killed in a car accident when I was two. There was no other place for me. My mother's brother kept me for a while until the Department of Children Services placed me in Thornhill. I know several people up there. I'd be glad to call ahead and get everything going for you."

"That's great, Bill. I appreciate your help. Let me talk to Elizabeth and I'll call you."

"Sure thing, James," replied Bill. "Let me know."

I was so excited. I couldn't wait to tell Elizabeth.

While I was on my way home, Elizabeth received a phone call from her friend at the bank.

"Mrs. Towns, we have found out who has been passing the marked money around Shreveport."

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It is a woman named Denise Johnson. Do you know her?"

"No, I don't believe I do," she stated, puzzled.

"What about the other person?" he asked, "Martha Biggs."

Immediately, Elizabeth felt weak, her heart racing.

"Mrs. Towns are you there?" he called. "Hello, hello?"

"Yes, I'm still here," she responded.

"What about the other woman?" he inquired.

"I don't believe I know either," she said. "But I want you to do everything in your power to take care of the problem."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll take care of it."

"Listen and listen good. My name," she warned, "is to stay out of this. It's never to be mentioned. You understand?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. I have some good friends on the police force in Shreveport. I can have them busted on a drug charge instead of blackmail."

"Very clever," she replied. "I like that, but remember," she warned, "you don't want to know what happens if my name turns up in this mess."

Elizabeth hung up and racked her brain. She figured there was no way they could connect her to the baby. It would be her word against theirs. But the blackmail was something different. Elizabeth knew if it came down to it she could say they were blackmailers. She could tell them when she was in the hospital years ago Martha was a nurse there and had slipped her pills for money. A few months ago, she ran into Martha and she threatened to tell my husband if she didn't pay her one hundred thousand dollars. Martha was out of work, desperate, and needed money. Elizabeth didn't want to destroy her marriage and home over a bunch of pills. We were thinking of adopting a child.

When I got home, I raced in to tell Elizabeth the good news, but first I had to catch my breath. I began explaining it to her, but I noticed she acted sort of hesitant.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "I thought you would be more eager."

"I don't know," she replied. "Out of state, James, I don't know. I don't see why we can't adopt in Louisiana."

"But Elizabeth," I said. "Bill told me this was a great place. He grew up there."

"I don't know, that's an awfully long ways away," she complained. "I don't know if I could make the trip."

"Sure you can," I assured her. "You will do fine. How about it, Elizabeth? Let's go for it."

After a few minutes of thinking about it, she decided to go. She saw that I was so happy, and that was worth it all.

"I love you, baby. You'll be happy about it, you'll see. I'm going to call Bill. I'll be right back."

Elizabeth took a long deep breath and slowly sighed. She sat in silence, wondering where Magnolia's baby was. She had no idea. She had never wanted to know until now. All she knew was that it was out of state. To beat it all, she had no way of finding out. She hoped the baby wasn't in Memphis. Besides, if it was, what would be the odds of me choosing her child over all the other children? Furthermore, what would be the chances the child would still be there after three years?

I never knew what walking on clouds felt like until now, I thought.

But this time it felt good. Like something good was going to happen.

We packed that night and left early the next day. I was as happy as a child at Christmas. Elizabeth kept sort of quiet. She felt bad a lot and seemed to be getting weaker. I could tell she was troubled, but she was happy for me.

It was a long drive. But finally we pulled up to the front door. It was still early, about 8:30 or 8:45 in the morning. We went in and made our way to the main office.

They were expecting us. Bill had already notified them. It took us about two hours to complete all the paperwork. Afterwards, we toured the orphanage and met some of the children. Bill was right; it was a very nice home.

As we visited about the orphanage, I noticed Elizabeth was a little uptight, but I figured she was tired from the trip. We spent the entire day there. As we talked with some of the children, Elizabeth became weak and had to lie down.

While Elizabeth rested, I continued touring the orphanage and noticed a small boy. I assumed he was about three or four years old. He was sitting in a chair looking out the window. I made my way over and sat down beside him. At first he acted like he didn't notice me and kept staring out the window. I spoke, but he didn't say a word. I pointed to some squirrels playing in the yard; he never spoke.

When I got up to leave, he quickly grabbed my arm, looked up at me, and called me Daddy. I didn't know what to say. I was honored that he would think that much of me. All it took was for me to look in his eyes. I had seen those eyes somewhere, but I couldn't remember at the time. This was the child. He was the one; I knew it. I knew something good was going to happen. I turned to him again and asked him his name.

"James," he answered.

"James," I said. "That's my name, too."

He looked up with those eyes and giggled, "We both have the same name. Are you going to be my daddy?" he said. "I think you would make a good daddy. I've never had a daddy before."

"What happened to your dad?" I asked.

"I don't know," he replied.

"What about your mama?'

He humped his little shoulders, I brushed his hair back out of his face, and he said, "I don't know."

"We'll have to see what we can do about that," I replied. "Wait right here. I want you to meet somebody."

When I reached Elizabeth she was getting up. I told her I wanted her to meet somebody. We made our way over to little James; Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. As she looked into the little boy's eyes, a chill ran down her spine. Her worst fear stood before her; she was at a loss for words.

"Little James, this is Elizabeth, my wife, and hopefully your mother," I said with enthusiasm.

Elizabeth grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side. Elizabeth pleaded and begged me to go and try somewhere else, but I wouldn't hear of it. This was the child. This was to be my son.

Suddenly, Elizabeth passed out. Everyone gathered around and tried to assist her. When she awoke, the workers took her back to the clinic to lie down.

As they were carrying her away, little James called out her name. I turned to the director and told him I wanted to adopt little James. He asked me about my wife. I told him everything would be fine; she was just tired from the trip. I assured him, if he would take care of all the legalities as soon as possible, there would be a substantial donation for the orphanage.

"Well, Mr. Towns, why don't you take little James home with you for a few weeks and see how it goes. I'll get with our lawyer and yours to work out the final papers."

"Sounds good," I replied.

"Me, too!" little James cried.

"Go ahead and get your things together, son," encouraged the director, "while we go check on Mrs. Towns."

Shortly, we were ready to go and headed out. Elizabeth slept all the way home. Little James and I talked, laughed, and sang songs.

"She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes. She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes...," we laughed and sang.

Finally, the road lay behind us and we were home. We had been home about a week when I got an urgent business call and had to go out of town for about three weeks. Elizabeth still wasn't feeling well so I decided to take little James with me. That would give her some time alone to rest. We took a cab to the airport. I asked little James if he had ever flown before, and he said, "No." I told him not to be afraid, that it was quite fun. I told him I would be there with him. He hugged my leg and replied, "We will do fine, Daddy." It wasn't long before the plane was up in the sky and leaving the New Orleans skyline, headed to Houston, Texas.

Not long after we left, the police and D.A. stopped by the house to talk with Elizabeth. They introduced themselves and asked if they could speak with her for a moment. She agreed. The police told her they had been trying to get in touch with her for the last few days. She told them she had been out of town with me. Elizabeth was trembling all over. She didn't know what to say when they asked her why she seemed a little jittery. She told them she was weak from cancer.

"We're sorry to hear that, ma'am," they replied with concern. "This won't take long. We want to ask you about the blackmail and your relationship with a Ms. Martha Biggs and Ms. Denise Johnson."

"Please sit down," offered Elizabeth.

As they sat down, Elizabeth started explaining the situation. She said she first met Martha in the hospital several years ago after having a nervous breakdown over her miscarriage, but had never met her sister. Elizabeth also stated that while she was in the hospital she had bought pills from Martha.

"I know it sounds crazy, but I was a messed up woman. I rejected my husband, blaming him for the loss of our child, and I guess you could say I did it out of revenge. Martha found out James had a lot of money. When I met her a few months back, she confronted me. She was in desperate need of a job and asked me to help her get one at the orphanage. She said she was going to tell my husband if I didn't help her. I couldn't give up James. Finally, I agreed and helped her. Later on after she started working, the phone calls started. She wanted money. I assumed she got greedy and wanted more."

"Why didn't you call the police?" questioned the D.A.

"I was afraid the scandal would cause me to lose my husband. I didn't want that. I thought if I gave her what she wanted she would go away."

"What about the baby?" probed the D.A.

"What baby?" she asked puzzled.

"The baby she supposedly took to the orphanage and swapped."

"I don't know anything about a baby," she responded.

"Martha and Denise, her sister, were caught falsifying papers at the orphanage. Both of them were fired. The orphanage didn't file charges. They wanted to keep everything low profile. The bad publicity would hurt the home," explained the D.A. "We have only charged them with blackmail. I think this will be enough for now, Mrs. Towns. The trial starts the first of the week. I need you to testify. Do you think you'll be able to be there?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "I believe I can make it."

"Okay," he said. "Have a nice day. Hope you get to feeling better."

Later on that evening I called to tell Elizabeth that little James and I had landed in Houston. I also wanted to see how she was feeling. She didn't have too much to say. I guess I had disturbed her nap. I told her I would see her when I got home and if she needed me to call. I left her my number and little James told her he missed her.

"I miss you, too," she mumbled.

The week before the trial flew by.

Elizabeth made her way into the courtroom. As the trial began, Martha and Denise sat staring at her. Elizabeth ignored them as if they weren't in the room. When the time came for her to take the stand, she placed her right hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth. The attorney addressed her and the situation. She explained it all to the jury and judge exactly as she had told the police and D.A. at her home.

"She's lying!" cried out Martha from across the room. "Ask her about the baby!"

The judge slammed the gavel down upon the bench and told her that one more outburst like that and she would be held in contempt. It appeared the case about the baby boiled down to Martha's word against Elizabeth's. Denise wasn't there when the deal was made. The fact was that these women were caught passing marked money, and a large sum of it was found on them.

"Are there any further questions?" asked the judge.

"Yes, your honor, there is one. Mrs. Towns, do you know a woman by the name of Cynthia Taylor?"

"Why, no, I don't believe I do," she replied. "Why, should I?"

"Maybe you know her by another name, Magnolia."

She paused for a second, but never blinked an eye. Her heart raced as a knot started to rise in her throat. Then she took control of herself, leaned back in her chair, and looked the attorney dead in the eye and said, "No."

"That's all, your honor," rested the attorney.

"Mrs. Towns, you can step down," ordered the judge. "You may call your next witness."

Slowly she walked across the floor. Her legs felt like they were going to buckle out from under her. Carefully, she took her seat as her eyes searched the courtroom to see if anyone noticed. When she looked Denise's way, Denise was moving her lips but she couldn't hear what she was saying. She could tell Denise was repeating the same phrase and was finally able to read her lips—rich bitch.

Shortly afterward, the judge called for a recess. Elizabeth made her way to the back of the courtroom where the D.A. stopped her. "Are you alright, Mrs. Towns?"

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Why don't you go on home? You probably won't have to testify anymore. I will contact you if we need you."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "I do believe I can rest better there."

"Let me help you to your car," he insisted.

Carefully, she made her way out of the courthouse to her car.

"Thank you," she said. "You are so kind."  
"You're welcome, Mrs. Towns," he replied.

As she drove off, he thought to himself, I know she's lying, but I can't prove it. She's involved in it a lot more than she is letting on. But if she's dying with cancer, what good would it do?

The trial went on; the days passed. Elizabeth went to see her doctor for some tests. The tests showed the cancer was in its final stage. The doctor gave her three to six months at the most.

"Elizabeth, you're going to have to quit fighting it," he explained, "and spend more time in bed and rest. It would help you so much."

"I know," she agreed. "I know."

After she pulled up in her drive and got out of the car, she picked up the paper lying in the yard. She went in the house and sat down to look at it. The front page read, 'Two women get 15-20 years for blackmail.' As she scanned the article, she didn't see her name at all. "Thank God," she softly spoke as she headed for the bedroom to lie down.

It was early the next morning when Elizabeth awoke. Quietly, she made her way about the bedroom. She happened to look out the window and noticed a car parked across the street. She stood and watched for a few minutes, and then it drove off. She didn't think too much of it until later on in the day when she saw the same car parked in front of the house again. As the days went by, she kept an eye on it. The day James returned, she noticed the car didn't come back.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," I said as I poured each of us a glass of orange juice. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm still tired a bit," she replied.

"Have you told the doctor about it?" I questioned her as I poured little James a bowl of cereal.

"James," she spoke. "We have to talk."

"Now Elizabeth if it's about little James," I grumbled.

"No it's not," she replied. "It's about something else, something bad."

Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks, turned to her, and asked, "Is everything all right?"

"No, James, it's not," she replied.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know how to tell you, but I have cancer."

"Cancer!" I yelled. "How, how long?" I questioned her.

She broke down and started to cry. I reached over and took her into my arms. As she cried, she told me the doctor said she had three to six months to live. I was devastated. I didn't know what to think, much less how to feel. For the next few days, I stayed around home, worried and angry. My feelings were so mixed up I didn't know which way to turn.

"How could you not tell me!" I yelled. "How could you keep it from me?"

From then on, Elizabeth stayed in bed most of the time, except for getting up occasionally to walk around a little and to go to the bathroom. She liked to sit at the window during the day and look out. I tried to stay home as much as I could with her. Little James was a lot of company to her. They never were that close, but there was something there. I often wondered what.

I was sitting in a cafeteria one day not long after Elizabeth had told me about the cancer. I couldn't help but notice this woman staring at me as if she knew me. I didn't want to keep staring back, so I got up and went to the bar to get a drink. When I turned, she was still looking at me as she talked to another woman at the table with her. Finally, I decided to go over to where they were. When I approached her, she scooted over, creating a place for me to sit down.

"Hi, ladies," I said as I sat down. I ordered another round for everybody. I slowly leaned over to her and said, "I know you're going to take this as a pickup, but I don't mean it like that. You remind me of someone I once knew." She sort of squirmed a little and giggled but never satisfied my question. "Where are you ladies from?" I inquired.

The other woman whose name was Betty spoke up and said, "Houston."

I asked what they were dong in New Orleans and she replied, "We're visiting, maybe staying."

"Would either of you be interested in a job?" I offered.

"What kind?" spoke up the woman, whose name was Cheryl.

"I need someone to take care of my wife. She has terminal cancer. I'll pay you well, and you can live at the house with us. Do you think you'd like to try it?" I asked as I washed down another shot of bourbon.

"Why not?" Cheryl said. "Some extra money would be good, plus a place to stay is very tempting. Yeah, I'll take it."

"Would you like to follow me home," I asked, "and meet my wife and little boy?"

"Sure, that will be fine," she stated. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, yes I am," I replied.

We left the cafeteria and headed home. Cheryl followed in her car. When we pulled up in the drive, I glanced up and saw Elizabeth looking out the window.

"It's the car!" cried Elizabeth. "It's the car I've been seeing in front of the house!"

She slowly made her way over to the bed and crawled in, pulling the cover over her head. She wondered what was going on and whose car it was. Then she paused and thought, "Maybe it's not the same car, maybe it just looks like it."

As she was still wondering, I entered her room and yelled, "Elizabeth, I'm home! I have someone I want you to meet."

Slowly she pulled the cover from around her head.

"Elizabeth," I announced, "this is Cheryl. She is going to start taking care of you."

"Hi, Elizabeth," she said.

Elizabeth slowly looked Cheryl over. She didn't look like Magnolia. Her hair was a lot longer and dark. As they talked, Elizabeth began to feel more confident. Unexpectedly, little James ran into the room with a peanut butter sandwich in his hand.

"This is my soon to be son," I bragged. "Little James, meet Cheryl. She will be living with us for a while to help take care of you and Elizabeth."

"That's great!" he yelled. "Can I have something to drink?"

As Cheryl made her way over to him she bent down, reached out, and hugged him. "You're a big boy," she said as she brushed his hair back out of his eyes. "How old are you?"

"I'm three, going on four," he replied. "Can you get me something to drink?"

"I bet you love peanut butter sandwiches," Cheryl said as she hugged him once again.

"I sure do. Do you want me to make you one?" he asked as she wiped a little peanut butter from his cheek.

"I sure do!" she exclaimed. "That would be great, and I will get you a drink."

"Come on!" he called.

He took her by the hand and led her out of the room.

"What do you think, Elizabeth?" I asked.

"Where did you find her, at a bar?" she replied.

"Now, Elizabeth," I said. "Don't be like that, give her a chance. Besides little James has already got a shine for her."

"What about you?" she questioned. "She's awfully young."

Cheryl came back into the room with little James riding on her back.

"Giddy up horsey, giddy up!" he yelled.

"What about it, Elizabeth?" I asked.

Elizabeth, already weak and nearly sick, spoke up and said, "I guess."

"That's my girl," I replied as I watched Cheryl and little James prance about the room.

During the next few weeks Elizabeth kept getting worse. She was completely bedridden now, and she couldn't feed herself. Cheryl was wonderful. She took good care of Elizabeth and little James. Elizabeth slept most of the time, except when she would wake up screaming from bad dreams. The doctor came by twice a week. He gave us little or no hope.

"At anytime, it could be over," he said.

Late one evening, little James and I were downstairs. Cheryl was upstairs with Elizabeth because she'd had another bad night. As Cheryl reached over to fluff Elizabeth's pillow, she opened her eyes. As she lay there motionless, she looked into Cheryl's eyes.

"Oh, no, it can't be!" cried Elizabeth.

Cheryl stared into her eyes, winked and whispered, "Surprise."

Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears, and she whispered back, "Magnolia, is that you?"

She closed her eyes, gasped for a deep breath, and stopped breathing. Cheryl cried out. When I entered the bedroom, I saw Elizabeth lying on the bed with her arm hanging off the side, and Cheryl was at the foot of the bed in tears. I rushed over to the bedside, but it was too late. Elizabeth had passed. I reached over and took Cheryl in my arms to comfort her. Little James started to enter the room but Cheryl ran over, took him by the hand, and led him back downstairs. I called for an ambulance. She was taken to the mortuary and pronounced dead by the medical examiner.

The funeral was nice. I had all of Elizabeth's favorite flowers. She looked beautiful in her flowing gown that I picked out. It would be hard to give someone up that I had been with all those years. I was but a young business man just starting out when I met her. We'd had some bad times along the way, but there were a lot of good times, too.

When I got back home, I looked around the big old house and thought it would be good to sell it and buy something smaller. The next day or two, I stayed to myself and studied on what I needed to do. The lawyer notified me by mail that the adoption papers were finalized. Little James was officially mine. I was glad of that. I guess we needed each other now more than ever.

It was late in the evening and Cheryl had been shopping with little James. He was tired and worn out. When he came home he fell right to sleep. I was downstairs sipping on some brandy when I heard someone come into the room. I slowly turned around and sat my glass on the table. Magnolia was standing there as beautiful as I had ever seen her.

"May I pour you a drink?" I asked her.

"Why, yes, James that would be nice," she replied. "I'm so glad to get out of those clothes and get my hair dyed back to its natural color."

"I am, too," I said. "You have never looked so beautiful. I'm glad you decided to come back to New Orleans and look me up. It's been a long time."

"Too long," she said as she ran her hands up under the lapel of my jacket and lightly kissed me.

"I was hoping she would lead us to little James sooner," I replied. "She always did blame me for the miscarriage, and believe me I have paid for it down through the years."

"So she is the one who couldn't have kids," said Magnolia. "She had me believing it was you for a while."

"That miscarriage did something to her," I explained. "She never was the same after that. Time passed and as the years went by we drifted further apart. I had often wondered how it would have been if we hadn't lost the child."

"Then you might not have met me," she chuckled. "If you hadn't found Elizabeth's diary you would have never known the truth."

"That was one thing about Elizabeth," I replied. "She wrote everything down with every little detail, except one thing."

"What's that?" asked Magnolia.

"She didn't know for sure if Martha had taken our baby to Memphis or not. It could have gone to California."

"Oh, no!" she cried, "it couldn't be."

Or could it, I thought.

Bay Point Island

The last of winter had passed. The chill of the wind was warmer now than the months before. Spring approached as a roaring lion, bringing the early rains that quenched the thirst of the land. The last of the snow was no more than a memory of the season that had slipped away. The crocus and the buttercup were in budding stage, waiting to open up in a few days. Then everything will break away and start blooming. The sweet smell of the fragrance of God's spring will highlight the wind, accenting the breeze. The stir of the winter wind bowed to the bright warm sunlight.

In 1917 I worked as a lighthouse keeper on Bay Point Island, a small island about twenty-five miles south off the coast of Stonehouse Harbor, Georgia. The island was full of life and had a strong heritage of its past. On the backside of the island on the other side of the Scott Estate toward the mainland was the old abandoned Bay Point State Penitentiary for the criminally insane. Dating back to the early 1800's, its ruins still stand today. Ocean waves still crash on its rocky coastline; spray from the waves moisten the molded and mildewed rock walls. The razor wire is all but gone, rusted away. At night, especially a foggy Georgia night on the island, you could almost hear the hounds of Spencer Huntington's ghost tracking down escaped convicts outside the prison walls in a massive manhunt. Today it is one of Georgia's many tourist sites. Hamilton Bay trimmed the coastline toward the inland and rests its waves softly on its shores. Toward the inland to the north was an old swinging bridge that stretched across Mercer Falls.

Not far from the lighthouse was the Scott Estate. It was once the home of the late Winfred A. Scott, the owner of Scott Fish and Cannery in Stonehouse Harbor. He had made his fortune from the ocean. His wife Martha Ann had borne a child, Cheryl, who had inherited the estate. The big house set atop the hill from the lighthouse. At night you could see the lights from the top floor of the house. The estate held peach and apple orchards which also brought in a mighty income. North of the house stood an orchard of nut trees. There were hickory nut, walnut, pecan, and butternut trees that also enriched the wealth. A giant fountain sat in front of the house surrounded by a circle drive trimmed in virgin South Carolina rose bushes and giant boxwood shrubs. The fountain was made of glazed marble imported from the Mediterranean. It was trimmed in polished pearl and amethyst cut stone. Behind the house, among the flower garden and fish pond, was a giant aviary filled with exotic birds, parrots, canaries, lovebirds, cockatiels, and parakeets. This was Cheryl's hobby, her pastime, her getaway.

Winfred and his family were at the top of society back then. He was well respected and liked by most. Yet like so many others, the Scotts had a dark side and a lot of secrets. Only a few ever knew that Martha Ann had been married before. When she was younger she had a child by her husband. Both of them, still kids themselves, soon brought the end to their relationship. The way times were, the hardships and struggles, drove their home into ruins.

Before her divorce was final, she met Winfred. He swept her off her feet. Still childlike, not really knowing what love was, and so infatuated with him, in her eyes he could do no wrong. She gave her daughter up to her first husband when Winfred told her he wanted to marry her, but he didn't want a readymade family. After the divorce, her first husband and the child left, and she never heard from them again. After dating for almost a year, Martha Ann and Winfred married.

Everything was heavenly for a while. There was high prestige in being Winfred Scott's wife. She enjoyed the high class recognition from everyone, ballroom dances, country clubs, traveling abroad, and playing crochet on the lawn with the governor, senators, and judges. She had it all and so did Winfred.

She was so beautiful and full of life. Although he was ten years older, she made him feel like a young man again. But, as time passed, the rich and glamorous life sort of died down. Everything now seemed to be about the business. The late night rendezvous in the bedroom slowed down. The sexy small talk soon died, too. Martha Ann became lonely, depressed, and started drinking more. Winfred, not much of a big drinker, argued and scolded her about her drinking. Among the drinking and some other things, they soon fell out of love. The sparks of the romance and the fire of their marriage had all but gone out.

As time passed, Winfred stayed tied up in his business and Martha began to stray. She started seeing one of the fishermen who worked on the shipping docks of Stonehouse Harbor. He worked for Winfred. The affair went on for several months. They would sneak around in Stonehouse and on the island whenever Winfred was out of town. Finally, Winfred caught wind of the affair but, by that time, Martha Ann was pregnant. She was forty-three.

Late one night Winfred got a call from one of his buddies, a local policeman. He had found Martha Ann alongside the road. She was drunk and crying. Winfred told the officer to bring her home. When the officer brought her to the door, Winfred slipped him a little money in his shirt pocket and told him he would take care of it now. After the officer left, Winfred confronted Martha Ann about the affair, but she denied it. She argued the point that she had been raped, that there was never an affair, but the talk of people telling lies and rumors. He suspected differently. Then she broke down and told him she was pregnant. He was at a loss for words. Winfred stormed out of the house in a rage, disappearing into the night's darkness. Hours later, he returned. He held his head up in pride, but his eyes looked as if he had been crying.

To save face and avoid embarrassment to the family, Winfred accepted the rape story and took matters into his own hands. He had her lover killed. He paid big money for a couple of men to take her lover out in the night to the ocean and feed him to the sharks. They tied him up in fish bait and threw him overboard. The lover disappeared into the deep dark water just off the coast of Bay Point, never to be seen again. Later on when Martha tried to see him, she couldn't find him; he had disappeared. She knew Winfred had done something but couldn't prove it. The word about town was he moved up North. The other word was short but bitter, Winfred's revenge. Nothing was ever proven about the disappearance.

Winfred accepted being the baby's daddy. There was a slim chance he might have been the father. While Martha Ann was seeing her lover, there were times she slept with Winfred also. He didn't know for sure if the baby was his, but at the same time he didn't want to know the truth. Martha went along with it. The child did however bring a little romance back into their lives. After a while, I guess you could say the child turned out to be a blessing instead of a curse. It saved their marriage. If the truth be known, it probably saved Martha's life.

Eventually, Martha had the baby. It was a girl, and she named her Cheryl. Life became normal for Winfred and Martha Ann. The baby enhanced their lives and marriage. Cheryl was the talk of the town. She was the new jewel in the Scott's crown. No one ever knew if Winfred was the baby's real daddy. They accepted that he was, but there were the rumors in the shadows about the real father. No one ever challenged it, they knew better. There was something about having a child around that put a different meaning on the word home. It seemed that all the cracks and crannies that lay wait in the Scott marriage where filled with the child. The home that lost its laughter smiled once again. The warm feeling of love that once inhabited it was now rekindling the flame. Martha Ann had given up on her drinking and Winfred stayed at home more playing with the child, being a daddy and husband.

Life is filled with ups and downs and it would be when Cheryl was seventeen that she would leave her mark on the Scott's family tree. It was then that she got pregnant. When Winfred and Martha Ann found out they were very angry. It was like they were reliving the haunted past again. Winfred didn't waste any time. He made a few calls and made the arrangements for Cheryl to be sent away, out of state, and have her baby given up for adoption. Cheryl was devastated. She didn't want to give up her child. But the influence of her parents and the Scott fortune hung in the balance.

The baby's daddy, whose nickname was Bones, was the caretaker of the estate grounds. He was my nephew. I oversaw the lighthouse for Mr. Scott. Bones and Cheryl used to play around the lighthouse when they were kids. The two children grew up together on the island and they had been secretly seeing each other for a long time. He was nicknamed Bones because of the crossbones and skull he had tattooed on his arm. Bones was hired by Mr. Scot to tend to the crops and take care of the migrant workers during the harvest. It was hard for him to figure it out. He put two and two together and it all added up to three (so to say).

The Scott's immediately isolated Cheryl from everyone, especially Bones, until she left on the trip. Bones tried to see her several times but was stopped by Winfred's bodyguards. Winfred even went to him and threatened him if he didn't stay away from her. He said he would have bad consequences to pay that he didn't want to pay.

From time to time when Bones was working out in the yard he saw her peeping out the window through the curtains. That was the last time he saw her. She was being kept a prisoner in her own home by them. No one knew when it had happened, but one day Cheryl was gone. No one knew where she was. It was kept hush-hush, not even the father of the baby knew. Everyone was told she went on an unexpected trip to Europe for a few months.

In a short time, Cheryl had her baby girl and named her Sarah. Months later, she returned home by herself. She would never be the same again. She had asked about Bones, but he had finally left. No one knew where he was. The child was given to an orphanage, and Winfred had it fixed that the child would be passed on through several orphanages to keep anyone from finding the child, especially Cheryl. Winfred gave big donations to the orphanage to have his wishes followed. The orphanage was glad to do it because they needed the money. There was some talk about it on the island, but like everything else it died down.

In the eyes of the others, Winfred and Martha Ann had lost the respect and popularity of the town. It cost the Scotts more than they wanted to give. From then on Winfred and Martha Ann started going down. Not many people would have much to do with them. Their health began to fail and soon they passed. Cheryl was left in charge after inheriting the Scott Estate and fortune. At their death, she neither shed a tear, nor grieved for them. Cheryl was a beautiful young woman and ruled her inheritance with an iron fist.

After her parents died, Cheryl spent the next two years searching for her baby. If there was one thing in this world she was bound and determined to do, she was going to get her baby back. No matter what the cost. She went headstrong, cutting through the red tape and the bureaucracy. She spent a lot of money buying information and leads.

After nearly three years, her hard work and determination began to pay off. She got a lead. Her daughter had been adopted by a family in North Carolina, a Troy and Elizabeth Fittsmichael. The child's name was Sarah. After carefully following the child's trail from where she gave the baby up and uncovering the trail her daddy left, Sarah ended up at the Windsor Hills Orphanage in North Carolina, about an hour drive out of Raleigh. The next thing to do was to figure out a way to get her baby back without giving herself away. She wondered what she could do. How she should go about it. After all this she had finally found her baby. It was just a matter of time that she would hold her baby once again.

It was by chance one day while she was at the cannery checking on some new equipment that she overheard one of the workers mention a Troy Fittsmichael. He was telling the others that he had worked for him in Charlotte. The worker went on to say that Troy was a good man and one of the best bosses he had ever had. When he had finished talking she spoke up, "Excuse me, sir." Then she called him over to the side asking him questions about Troy. "Are you referring to Troy Fittsmichael who has a wife named Elizabeth and a daughter name Sarah?" she inquired. "I need a new foreman to take over some of the new operations at the cannery that will be opening up. Do you think he might be interested?" she questioned.

"He might," he replied. "Do you know him?"

"In a roundabout way," she said.

"When I worked for him in Charlotte," he went on to say, "we became good friends. He remembered their little girl, Sarah. When they adopted her they were so happy. Elizabeth couldn't have children."

Cheryl nodded her head that she understood.

"The last time I talked to him, about a year ago, things had gotten pretty bad. The place where we had been working took bankruptcy. The last I heard he was looking for work. They were having hard times."

"Could you reach him?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied. "I have a cousin that lives down the road from him, if he still lives there. I'll call him."

"Call me at this number," she said, "when you get his phone number and address. I'll get in touch with him and see if he is interested. I'll tell him that you recommended him for the job. Now what's your name again?"

"Billy Walker," he stated, "but he will know me by my nickname Shakey."

Billy told her he would have it for her by late that evening.

"Thank you," she replied.

"You're welcome," he said as he went back to work.

Troy and Elizabeth were having a hard time. They barely could make ends meet. Troy was out of work. The cannery where he worked in Charlotte had closed. It wasn't long before Cheryl had a game plan. As soon as she got the information she started to work. She mailed them some brochures about the island and invited them down for a little getaway. They were welcome to stay in the cottage there at the mansion. Also, she added that there were jobs available. She went on to say that Troy had been recommended for a supervisor's job at her cannery in Stonehouse, Georgia by his friend Billy Walker, Shakey, and she would love to discuss the job with him. She even offered to pay their moving expenses and help them to relocate if they were satisfied with everything. Next, she gave her name and number and finished with, I will be waiting to hear from you—Cheryl Scott, Scott Fish and Cannery in Stonehouse, Georgia.

Shortly, Troy and Elizabeth received the invitation. At first they couldn't believe it. Troy had heard of Scott's Fish and Cannery and always heard it was good money and steady work. The fact that Shakey had told her about him meant a lot. The next few days they discussed it. Finally, they made the decision to check into it.

"What could it hurt?" they agreed.

Troy called Cheryl, and they made the arrangements. They would come down on Thursday, spend the weekend, and go from there.

When Troy and Elizabeth got there, Cheryl was ready for them. She had a catered supper to begin with, then a walk about the grounds. She showed them the cottage. It was a beautiful French stone cottage with a winding porch laced in morning glory vines with a gazebo on one end. It had three bedrooms, kitchen, living room and two baths with polished floors made of Himalayan firwood.

"Oh, morning glories, they are my favorite," said Elizabeth.

"Me too," replied Cheryl, "and it was Mama's too."

The evening weather was great. After the superb meal, they sat around and talked. Cheryl asked if they had any children. Elizabeth answered that they did, a daughter by the name of Sarah. She said she couldn't have children and discovered that Troy was sterile so they adopted.

"Why didn't she come with you?" asked Cheryl.

"We left her with my brother and his wife," replied Troy. "We wanted to check things out first and spend a little time alone."

"How old is Sarah?" Cheryl replied.

"She's eight going on nine," said Elizabeth. "Would you like to see a picture of her?"

"Sure," replied Cheryl. "I'd love too." As Cheryl reached for the picture, her hands began to quiver. "Oh, excuse me," she said. "I have tremors sometimes." Then she looked at the picture. She held back the tears that filled her eyes. It was the first time she had seen her daughter since the night she was born. "She is a doll," said Cheryl. "I can't wait to meet her. I love children," Cheryl said as she gave back the picture.

"Do you have any children," asked Elizabeth?

"No," Cheryl replied as a big knot hung in her throat. "Excuse me." Then in a few minutes Cheryl said, "I wish I had a little girl like yours."

"Maybe you will one day, Cheryl," consoled Elizabeth.

"Well, you two go ahead and get cozy in the cottage and tomorrow we will go to the cannery. Make yourselves at home; enjoy the pool. Let me know if you need anything. I've got to go to Stonehouse for a while. I'll see you later."

"Thanks, Miss Scott, thanks a lot," replied Troy. "Bye."

"Call me, Cheryl," she said as she turned and laughed.

"You got it, Cheryl," replied Troy.

Cheryl had to get away. She couldn't hold back anymore. She needed a stiff drink to ease the pain. That evening Cheryl hit the highlights of the nightlife. She hit one club after another to try to ease the pain of what she had done. The night was young and so was she, a beautiful woman out for the night. But, she suddenly stopped in her tracks when she sat at the table and looked across the room at the Skillet Creek Bar and Grill. "It can't be," she whispered to herself. "Oh please tell me that it is," she cried out as she took out across the floor. The man across the room turned toward her and looked.

"Cheryl," he said. "Is that you?"

"Oh my God," she cried out. "Bones, it's you. She couldn't believe it. I thought I'd never see you again! Where have you been? I've tried to find you."

He explained, "I spent some time in Oklahoma and Nebraska for a while working on the wheat harvest. Then I traveled about catching work here and there and one day I wound back up here. You don't need an experienced groundskeeper do you?"

"Yes, yes, I do" she cried and laughed, "Oh, God, yes. There are crops that need spraying and trees that need pruning and on and on. Bones, don't say another word. You're hired."

As tears filled her eyes she ran her fingers in his hair and told him she needed him and that not a day had gone by without her thinking of him.

"But what about your dad and mom?" he asked.

"They passed away a while back," she stated.

She informed him that she had inherited the estate and the cannery and that she was the top dog now.

"I'm sorry to hear about your family," he said.

"I'm not," she said.

"Me either," he replied. He then made a toast, "You and me against the world, cheers!"

"I'll drink to that," she replied. "Hey, Bones, you are not going to believe this."

"What's that," he asked.

"I have found the baby."

"You have, how?' he asked as tears ran down his face.

As Cheryl wiped his tears away, he reached up and took her hand and kissed it.

"I've missed you," he said.

As they moved back over to her table they sat down and she told him the whole story. He turned to her and told her he had tried to find her after she left. But her dad had so much power and money he couldn't compete. Eventually he got discouraged and gave up.

Cheryl replied that she understood. She didn't blame him. There were times she thought about giving up, but she couldn't let go of their child.

"Can I see her?" he then asked.

"It won't be long," she said. "I'm still working on it."

As they sat there talking, they had a lot to catch up on. As they talked, the empty drink glasses began to pile up, the drunker they got. Finally, a couple hours later, Cheryl looked at him and said, "Let's go home."

As they drove up to the house he said, "It's been a long time since I have been here. I forgot about how beautiful it was. And the memories, there are so many I wouldn't know where to start."

"Welcome home," she said.

As they walked toward the house, they suddenly heard a commotion around back.

"Oh, no my birds," she cried out.

When they got around to the aviary the birds were squawking, flying around frantically, and making all kinds of noise. Quickly they rushed around to see. Bones told Cheryl to stay back that he would check it out, thinking it may be a dog or possum, trying to get to the birds. Cheryl watched from the distance as he approached the aviary.

Inside the cottage, Troy was awakened by the noise also. He could see Cheryl and some man as he looked out the kitchen window of the cottage. Elizabeth never turned over. He couldn't get over how beautiful she looked in the moonlight as he watched from the shadows until she went in.

Then, all of a sudden, two skunks shot out from under a bush, spraying Bones, and then took off out across the backyard leaving him stinking to high heavens. At first Cheryl laughed at him until she didn't see him laughing. Then he started laughing and they both laughed. But, she kept her distance. You talk about stinking and sobering up, that did the trick. Bones stood so helpless. He didn't know what to do. She felt so sorry for him. Man, he stunk so bad it almost took Cheryl's breath. She told him to take off his clothes and come on in the house and take a bath.

"There is some canned tomato juice in the cellar I'll get, and you can take a bath in it. They say that will take away the odor. Leave your clothes outside," she suggested. "No, put them in the trashcan."

Slowly, he stripped down and then headed into the house. He still stunk. She told him to soak in the tomato juice for a while and then wash himself. While he did, she would pour them another drink. She had to make a joke and asked him if he wanted a Bloody Mary. He looked at her funny and then realized the joke.

"Yeah, right, wise guy," he replied.

The smell lingered for hours in the backyard. The skunks were long gone, and Bones was in her tub. The next morning she went over to Stonehouse and did some quick shopping. She picked up some clothes for Bones and took them back so he could get dressed. Troy and Elizabeth ate breakfast with Bones and Cheryl. After that Cheryl took Troy and Elizabeth over to the cannery for a tour. While there, she introduced him to some people he would be working closely with. And of course they saw Shakey. They were like brothers. They talked and talked. Finally, they left for a bite of lunch. They went back to Bay Point and met Bones and toured the old penitentiary there.

"It was a sight to see," said Elizabeth.

"Amazing," replied Troy.

Bones had to leave us. He was moving in some things back at the house.

"Well what do you think about it?" asked Cheryl.

"The island is so beautiful," replied Elizabeth. "It's so heavenly. I could stay here forever."

Troy remarked he had never seen anything like it.

"Do you think you would be happy here?" she asked.

"I think so," he replied.

"Me, too," said Elizabeth.

"Then we all agree. You can stay in the cottage as long as you want," replied Cheryl. "Whenever ya'll would like some time alone," she said, "I'll be glad to watch little Sarah for you."

"Troy, what do you think?" asked Elizabeth.

He then nodded his head with a smile, "Why not?"

"The job is yours if you want it." She asked, "When can you start?"

"As soon as we get moved, give us a week," they replied.

"Consider it done," said Cheryl. Then she hugged them both. "Go back home and get everything packed up and I'll send a moving company to move you. I'll pay. It can be a housewarming treat. I would like to meet the little one of the house."

"It will be good returning home again," stated Elizabeth. "We have a lot to do."

"Elizabeth, do you think you'll miss North Carolina?" asked Troy.

"Some," she replied. "Troy, do you think we are doing the right thing?"

"Sure," he said. "Everything is handed right to us. You can't beat that. We've worked hard and come too far to turn our backs on a once in a lifetime blessing."

"Yeah, I know," replied Elizabeth. "It seems so easy, too easy as a matter of fact."

"It is a once in a lifetime opportunity," coached Troy. "You're not getting cold feet on me are you?"

"Maybe a little," she said, "maybe a little."

"It's going to be fine," he replied. "After a couple of months, you won't even think about North Carolina."

"I guess you're right," she said as she gave him a kiss and hug.

The move to Bay Point Island started as soon as they arrived home. It went so smoothly that by the following weekend they were unpacking and hanging family pictures up in the cottage. Cheryl had come by early that morning and offered to watch Sarah for them.

"That was nice of her," stated Troy. "She seems to love children."

Life went on in Bay Point. It was good there. Cheryl had given them one of her parrots as a housewarming gift for little Miss Sarah. The parrot's name was Governor. He was a colorful Amazon parrot from South America.

"What do you say, Governor," asked little Sarah.

Then he would reply, "Governor is a pretty bird." He would then squawk out loud, "A pretty bird. What do you say?" replied Governor. "You didn't hear me say anything did you?" she would reply back, and then squawk! Then Governor would fluff his feathers and walk about on his perch. "You're a smarty ain't you," he would say as he whistled and squawked. "Governor is a pretty bird, a pretty bird."  
Sarah loved him. Governor was like having another child around.

At the cannery, Troy had taken over some of the operations. He had some new ideas he wanted to try and she told him to go for it. Cheryl took care of little Sarah for them. She had gotten Elizabeth a part-time job at a bakery in Stonehouse. She had a good friend who owned it. Elizabeth loved to cook and bake. Cheryl babysat a lot for them; it was great. Bones and Cheryl, later on, began to spend more time with Sarah. Troy and Elizabeth were so busy. Whenever they started talking about being away from home so much, Cheryl would kindly offer them a little pay incentive to encourage them.

Cheryl had her dark side also. She could be a shady woman when she wanted to. The more she saw Sarah, the more she got attached to her, meaning the more she wanted her for herself. The months rolled by and Cheryl kept Troy and Elizabeth busy. She started hanging around the cannery more than she had in the past, claiming to be checking on the business. But little did anyone know, she was moving in on Troy. He had done some good things for the business and was bringing in the money to prove it. He was a pretty smart business man. He sort of reminded her of her daddy. Cheryl liked that. They would take lunch together at times when he would work late. She would always have an excuse to be there.

Another thing was when Troy got the job and started making that big money, he was like so many others. He became uppity. I guess you could say he forgot where he came from. Also, there were some other things that came along with it. He and Elizabeth had started to have trouble. She had quit the bakery to be at home with Sarah more. Cheryl didn't like that so she turned to Troy for revenge. She and Troy became a pretty hot item there for about two weeks. Cheryl had sent Bones away on a trip to New England to look at some new fishing boat equipment.

But, her plans with Troy soon came to a halt. Troy saw a side of Cheryl he didn't like, so he decided to get out. But when he did, Cheryl threatened to go to Elizabeth and tell her and also fire him. They could lose it all. Cheryl was not going to let it go, without her daughter. So, one evening she went by Troy's office and told him to meet her at the old swinging bridge north of the lighthouse around dusk if he wanted her to let it go. He hesitated at first, but then agreed. Elizabeth was already suspicious and asking some questions.

That night they met on the bridge. Cheryl tried to rekindle what little they had, but Troy still didn't want any part of it.

"These meetings with Cheryl," he explained to Elizabeth, "are out of town business trips."

Whenever he came in at three o'clock in the morning, Elizabeth didn't seem to believe him, but she had no reason not too.

That night one thing lead to another as Cheryl started getting out of control; she then started to slap him. He quickly blocked her off, pushing her back. The bridge was swinging back and forth. The wind was so strong that night. As he reached out to hold on, he fell over the side of the bridge to his death below. Cheryl quickly got up and looked over the edge. There below on the rocks, Troy lay broken from the fall as the water splashed over him. As the shadows of the night moved about, she left for the house. She expected Bones to come home at anytime. That night Elizabeth sat up to talk to Troy to find out some answers. She felt something was wrong but she wasn't for sure what.

When morning came, Elizabeth found that Troy hadn't come home. She knew something had happened. Quickly, she took Sarah in her arms and headed for Cheryl's. When she banged on the door, Bones answered. Elizabeth asked for Cheryl.

"Come on in," he said, "why, what's wrong?"

Then Cheryl came in and asked what was going on. Elizabeth explained that something had happened to Troy. He hadn't come home last night, and that wasn't like him. Cheryl took her into her arms to comfort her.

"He probably stayed at the office late and fell asleep," suggested Cheryl.

Elizabeth started to cry. Then Cheryl told her she had some friends on the police force, and she would call if it would make her feel better. Hurriedly, Cheryl called and asked to speak to Detective Baxter or Detective Steele. After explaining the situation to them over the phone, they said they would check it out. That eased Elizabeth some, knowing something was being done. Cheryl explained to her that a person wasn't considered missing until seventy-two hours, but, the detectives assured her they would get right on it.

"Thank you, Cheryl," replied Elizabeth. "You have been good to us."

A few hours later the phone rang. It was the detective. They told Cheryl that a couple of children playing under the old swinging bridge found a body on the rocks below.

"We checked his identification and it's definitely the one you were looking for."

"Thank you," she replied. "We will be right over."

When she put the phone down, Elizabeth looked up at her and said, "He's dead."

Cheryl rushed over to her and grabbed her and held her tight in her arms. All of a sudden Elizabeth screamed out, fighting to get away. Cheryl held on, holding her close until Elizabeth calmed down.

"Where is he?" she asked. "What happened?"

"Come on, we will take you there."

As they walked to the car, Elizabeth suddenly fell to her knees. Cheryl reached down and helped her to her feet. As Bones opened the car door, Elizabeth got in. In a matter of minutes, they met with the detective at the bridge. Elizabeth slowly got out of the car and walked over to the bridge. There she looked over the edge and saw Troy's broken body mingled with the rocks. All of a sudden she collapsed. The next thing Elizabeth knew, she awoke in the hospital. Cheryl and Bones were at her side.

"Where's my baby?" asked Elizabeth.

"She's over here in the chair asleep," replied Cheryl.

"What about Troy?" she inquired.

"You need to get some rest," encouraged Cheryl.

"But what happened?" questioned Elizabeth. "Why am I here? Where's Troy?"

"You passed out and the ambulance brought you here. Don't you remember?" asked Cheryl.

"No, not really," she explained. "The last thing I remember is looking at the rocks below."

Then suddenly she had a flashback and went into hysterics. Quickly, the nurse came in and sedated her. In a few minutes she began to calm down. As she grew sleepy, she told Cheryl to take good care of Sarah until she came back home.

"I will," she replied. "Don't worry; I'll take good care of her as if she were my own."

"You have been good to us," she said as she fell asleep.

A few days later the detectives came by Cheryl's. Elizabeth had already come home from the hospital. She was having a hard time accepting the loss of Troy. The detectives sat down and talked to her about what they had found out in the investigation. There was no sign of foul play. The evidence pointed to the fact that he must have slipped or tripped on the bridge and fell over to the side. The impact of hitting the rocks below was the cause of death. The other detective did bring up that the wind was strong that night causing the bridge to swing. The winds coming in off the ocean sometimes could be very strong.

"So you're saying it was an accident," spoke up Cheryl.

"Yes, ma'am, that's the way it appears. But, we can't help to wonder why he was out there alone."

"Maybe he wanted some time to be by himself," stated Cheryl. "He had been working a lot of hours."

"Well it could be," he replied. "We'll never know," he said. "What about his wife? Do you think she'll pull through?"

"She can stay here with me as long as she wants and live in the cottage. I'll take care of her and Sarah."

"Okay, then," replied the detective. "If you need us, call."

"We will," replied Cheryl as they turned and walked away.

The months passed and things with Elizabeth weren't getting any better. Cheryl was taking care of Sarah all the time now and was taking Elizabeth to a psychiatrist. The doctor said she was in a severe deep depression because of the loss of her husband. He wanted to give her shock treatments, but first he wanted to see if she could pull out of it herself with medication. Cheryl stayed by her side. The doctor also wanted to place her in the mental hospital for a while for observation, but Cheryl put that on hold. Instead Cheryl wanted to take care of her at home.

Time soon passed and a year later, Elizabeth took a turn for the better. She was up some, eating better, and talking more. But there were those times when she still went off into a deep depression. They could last up to weeks, maybe months at a time, but she was better in a lot of ways. There was one thing Elizabeth had to do when she got her strength back. She was going to have to face her demons when the time came.

Cheryl continued to help her. By now, Sarah looked at Cheryl as a second mom. Bones too played his role in the craziness, although he lay low most of the time, sort of in the background.

The night Troy died she had often wondered if there were three people on the bridge. As the light from the lighthouse scanned the inland that night, she suddenly got a glance of what may have been a third party. She has wondered a lot of times if it could have been Bones. She has learned, sometimes it pays to keep your mouth shut.

Then one evening a storm hit the island and Elizabeth left early for a walk. The wind had picked up and a fine mist of rain stirred about. Elizabeth had found her way over to the swinging bridge. It was the first time she had been there since Troy had died. She stood at one end of the bridge debating whether to face it or not. The bridge was swinging a little and rocking up and down. The wind flipped and flopped about, spitting a mist of rain onto her face. The angry water below splashed and hit hard upon the rocky shore. Slowly she eased up on the bridge, holding tight to the rail. Step by step, little by little, she slowly moved to the center. Out in the ocean you could see the sky lit up and a heavy rumble in the clouds sounded above her. Then it started to rain. The fierce winds from off the ocean drove the rains hard inland, as lightning pierced the stormy skies. As she approached the center, she held on for her life. Suddenly she took a stand and boldly cursed the winds and storm.

"Damn you," she cried, "for taking my life, my husband! Damn you!"

She raised a fist toward the sky and the storm answered back, driving her to her knees and pressing her back. As she held on for dear life, a streak of lightning flashed and struck a nearby tree on the bank.

"Take me!" she yelled. "Take me if you will, but I will not back down nor fear you!"

As great sheets of rain bombarded the bridge, the bridge twisted and flopped but could not shake her. Then, all of a sudden, a calm appeared and the rain became a drizzle, and the lightning and thunder ceased as the wind stilled. Slowly, she lifted her head and got up to walk. By that time Cheryl had appeared at the end of the bridge. Quickly, she ran out to get her, and to bring her back home. There was nothing to say. All was well.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?" asked Cheryl.

"I'll be all right," answered Elizabeth.

"We didn't know where you were," scolded Cheryl. "We thought something had happened to you."

"You had us worried," replied Bones holding Sarah.

Sarah started crying for her mother. She was scared. As Elizabeth took her into her arms, she stopped crying.

"I had to do it," she replied. "I had to face my demons."

"We understand," said Cheryl, "but you could have been killed."

"But I wasn't," replied Elizabeth.

After that Cheryl started keeping a closer eye on her. There were times Elizabeth would wander off, but she always seemed to find her way home. Elizabeth never did fully get back as she once was. Elizabeth became more distant, kept to herself more. She always seemed preoccupied. She didn't have much time for little Sarah. Elizabeth noticed how happy Sarah seemed to be with Bones and Cheryl and how good they were with her. She never said anything about it, but she did notice and kept it to herself. Then one day Cheryl got an urgent call from Chattanooga requesting that she come there. There were some documents that had been found that she needed to see. She asked them to send them to her because she really couldn't get away, but they insisted and out of curiosity she decided to go. Bones stayed with Elizabeth and Sarah.

The next day she took a flight out of Atlanta to Chattanooga. When she arrived at the St. Philips Home for Children on Sugar Tree Road outside of Chattanooga, she met with a Father Joseph and Sister Shelley.

"I'm glad you could make it," he said. "I know it may be an inconvenience, but I thought you might want to know what we found."

"Father, what does it have to do with me?" she asked.

"A few years ago the way I understand it, you sent out a letter seeking information on your daughter."

"Yes, sir, I did and later on I found her," said Cheryl.

"We took your letter and started a case file on you to try to help you find your daughter. In the process, your file was lost and placed into the archives and was never completed. Sister Shelley and a couple more discovered the mix-up as they were moving files to another location. We checked into our archives and found something we thought may be of interest to you. You do understand we could not give out documents nor information, but you did offer in your letter a generous donation for any information that we might have on your daughter."

"I understand," replied Cheryl. "Let me see what you have and I'll write a check."

Sister Shelley turned and presented the case file to Father Joseph. "According to our documents, your mother, Martha Ann Roberts, (her maiden name) had a child by her first husband. Martha Ann gave the child to her first husband and they left. She then married Winfred Scott. Not long afterward the child's dad died and she was placed her here at St. Phillips. When she came of age she left and later on married. I married them."

"Are you sure?" cried out Cheryl.

"Yes, we have the documents that prove it. The child's name was Elizabeth. I married her and Troy Fittsmichael. So you have a half sister."

Cheryl eased back in her chair as tears filled her eyes. Then Father Joseph cleared his voice.

"We hope the information was helpful," he said.

"Oh yes, yes it was," she replied as she wrote out the check.

"Thank you," he replied. "Sister Shelley will see you out."

"Thank you, Father," she said.

On the way back home, she couldn't believe it. She was so confused. Her thoughts were scattered. She couldn't believe it. After a while of soul searching she decided to tell Elizabeth the whole story, but when she arrived home she found out Elizabeth had committed suicide. She had taken an overdose of sleeping pills. Bones had found her body lying on the couch in the cottage when he called for her to come and eat dinner. He immediately called the police. Cheryl broke down screaming and crying out Elizabeth's name. As they placed her in the ambulance Cheryl fell to her knees.

"Oh my God," she cried.

Bones ran to her to comfort her as little Sarah stood by and cried, "Mama, Mama, Mama."

Wages of Sin

A heavy rain fell over Savannah as the city was blanketed with darkness. The sirens in the background haunted the city as another body was found. We had already found two other bodies along the banks of the White River, and it was beginning to look like we had a madman terrorizing the city. From the depths of the darkness of hell, a new serial killer had penetrated the city, driving fear and terror deep in the heart of Georgia.

A few years ago Holt County experienced the horror of another killer who left the town paralyzed with bodies and unsolved mysteries. Now it looks like he, or possibly a copycat, may have returned.

My name is Daniel Hines. I am a detective for the Holt County Police Department. Kelvin Todd and I had worked together on the first strand of Savannah murders in 1986. Then Kelvin took a job with the FBI in Atlanta. I have called in a request for him to help on these murders, thinking they may be connected to the murders in 1986. I don't know if they will deny my request or not. It would make my job a lot easier to have an old friend with his experience beside me once again.

Finally arriving on the crime scene, I made my way down the banks of the river until I reached the body. It appeared to have the same M.O. There was a small handmade wooden cross around the victim's neck with a Bible scripture attached. It read "Romans 6:23—the wages of sin is death." Carefully, I examined the body, not wanting to disturb any evidence that may be there. And then I saw it. The killer's signature was coming together. I compared it to the other two bodies that had been found in shallow graves in the last two months. The victim had been castrated while he was still alive. The cause of death I'm sure was that he bled to death. It was the same M.O. as the two earlier bodies. The first two men were gay, and I'd bet this one is gay, too.

In the 1986 murders, there were four gay men found dead along the banks of the same river. They were found bound, partially nude, and raped. But there was no cross, no Bible verse, and no castration. Is it the same killer, a copycat, or a new killer? Maybe the earlier killer is trying to confuse us to keep from getting caught. After the four murders in 1986 the killing stopped. The killer disappeared. To the best of our knowledge, he never surfaced again, anywhere.

I moved out of the way of the body as the crime tech team moved in. Then I talked to the ones who had found the body. But they hadn't seen anything. The killer was long gone by the time they got there. My only hope was comparing the new evidence gathered by the tech team to the evidence they already had. Maybe they could find something. As I looked across the river, I thought of the vast area it covered. The river ran between Savannah and the neighboring town of Wilburn. I'll take a team of men and comb both banks of the river and see what we find.

For the past three months Savannah's gay community had been terrorized. The White River is a gay hangout on the north side. A lot of activity goes on there such as parties, parking, and get-togethers. The people have named the killings the White River murders, and they call the killer the White River monster.

When I arrived back at the station I had a call from Atlanta. It was Kelvin informing me that they were sending him down tomorrow to help out on the case since he had worked on the earlier case. I was glad to hear the good news.

Meanwhile, downtown, Judge Katherine Defiore was just leaving the courthouse on her way home. She had been working late on court cases for the last three months. Her husband had died of a heart attack about six years ago. Katherine had been wanting to move on with her life, sort of get back in the groove of things. For the last six years she had been alone. As she was getting into her car and headed for home, she started thinking about her husband and began to cry.

"Why, Robert," she cried. "Why did you have to leave me?"

All that I have now is my work, she thought.

Then she sighed, saying, "He would want me to go on."

Pulling into traffic she heads for home. While driving across town in the rain she crossed over White River to her home in Wilburn. The phone began to ring as she was coming through the door. It was her best friend Brenda.

"Hey, girl," she said. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing," replied Katherine, "I just got off work. The old workaholic, that's me."

"I know," said Brenda. "I've being trying to get you out of the house for the longest time now."

"I know you mean well," she replied. "But how do you know when you're really ready?"

"You don't!" cried Brenda. "Katherine, you just do it. I want you to get ready, and I'll be by in a couple hours to pick you up. We are going clubbing."

"But where are you going?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter! It's time to get out of your shell" cried Brenda. "The night is still young, and it's party time for a fifty-four year old girl in Savannah."

"I don't know," hesitated Katherine.

"I'll be by shortly," warned Brenda and hung up.

I guess I didn't have time to say no, thought Katherine. Why not?

Not long after that, Brenda stood at her door. Katherine was just finishing up. She was nervous and afraid, not knowing what to expect.

"Are you ready?" asked Brenda.

"I guess," replied Katherine. "How do I look?"

"You're a knockout, girl. Don't you think any different?"

As the two hurried to the car, they drove off.

"Where are we going anyway?" Katherine asked.

"Are you a little hungry?" replied Brenda.

"Kinda," she said.

"Me too," Brenda replied. "For tonight we will start at Jalan's Place. He's got the best baby back ribs in all of Georgia."

"I've never heard of that place," said Katherine.

"It's a club, mainly singles go there. It's the best rib crib in town for dining, dancing, and a bar. It will be a good place for your debut."

"I don't know," doubted Katherine.

"Trust me, girl," replied Brenda. "Every man's eye will be on you, but of course, after they check me out first."

As the two party girls laughed and talked, they crossed town quickly to the south side. There they saw club after club, party animals, and dancing in the street. When they got to Jalan's, they went in, ordered some ribs, hot wings, salad with potatoes, and beer.

"Brenda, you were right about these ribs," said Katherine. They are delicious."

"What did I tell you, sister?" she cried. "Didn't I tell you? You got a little barbecue sauce on your cheek."

Katherine quickly wiped. "Did I...," she asked.

"Yeah, you got it," replied Brenda.

Then suddenly Katherine looked up and there was a nice looking man staring at her.

"What have I been telling you, girl?" whispered Brenda. "Now do you believe me? Uh-oh, he's getting up and coming this way ... he's handsome, too."

As he approached their table, he cleared his voice and then introduced himself.

"Hi, my name is Alex."

Katherine just looked at him when suddenly Brenda kicked her on the leg.

"Oh-uh, I'm Katherine and this is Brenda."

"Can I sit down?" he asked.

"Sure, sure," responded Katherine with dreamy eyes.

As the two started talking, in came one of Brenda's friends.

"I'll be right back," she said.

The small talk was definitely there, and also the chemistry. But, will they light the fuse, thought Brenda.

"Do you want another beer or to dance?" he asked.

"No, that's alright, I'm fine," she replied.

Then up walked Brenda and her friend, interrupting, "Katherine, Alex, this is Bone," she said. "Bone, this is Alex and Katherine."

"Katherine, I'm going to leave with Bone for a while," she said. "You can take my car to your house and I'll pick it up later."

"Brenda!" cried Katherine. "You promised..."

"Oh, come on, girl," replied Brenda. "I'm sure Alex can follow you home."

"Brenda, don't do this to me," replied Katherine.

"Sure," replied Alex. "I can follow you home."

"There's no need," replied Katherine.

"I don't mind, I'll follow you home and leave. I won't even get out of the car and walk you to the door."

"Hey, what about it?" said Brenda as she snuggled up to Bone.

"I guess," replied Katherine.

"See you two later," said Brenda as she kissed Bone on the cheek and escorted him away.

"I guess I'm ready to go, too," said Katherine. "It's been a long day."

"Sure," he replied. "I understand."

"There's no need for you to follow me," she said.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I'm not doing anything else."

"You have to ignore Brenda," she said. "She gets a little crazy at times."

"Are you sure you don't want me to follow you?" he asked again.

"I'm sure," she replied. "It was good to meet you."

"You too," he answered.

On the way home she thought about Alex. She looked in her rearview mirror to see if she could see him following her. She kept thinking over and over that she had not been with a man since her husband had died.

How would I act? What would I do? she thought.

She tried to fight it off. She tried to surrender her desires, but she couldn't let go. Deep down inside she longed to be held and caressed in a man's arms. Hurriedly, she raced across town, across White River Ridge, back to Wilburn. As she pulled in to the drive, she noticed another car pulled in next to the road. It was Alex. She never said a word but took a deep breath and walked toward the door. They both arrived at the same time. Alex pressed her back against the locked door. He caressed her hair and stared into her eyes; the fuse had been lit. She filled his arms with her body. Neither said a word. Then Katherine turned to unlock the door. He ran his hands about her waistline as he gently kissed the back of her neck. The door opened; as they stepped in, the door closed behind them.

The next morning, she fixed him her favorite southern breakfast of fried chicken, white sawmill gravy, homemade biscuits, and grits. He noticed that she placed a cloth in a bowl and then put in the biscuits and covered them with the cloth.

"My mama back in West Virginia used to do her biscuits like that. It keeps them warm longer," she said.

"It's funny the things people do," he said. "Like I bet you don't do this in Georgia. But in West Virginia we gather pokeberries in the fall from poke salad. We wash the berries and put them in plastic bags, and put them in the freezer. When your legs ache you take out a few, put them in your mouth, eat the berries and spit out the seed. But you don't bite it, just eat the berry and it is good for a leg ache."

"I've never heard of that," said Katherine.

"See what I mean?" he replied.

"Do you have any family?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Both of my parents are dead and my brother was killed in a car wreck a few years ago. They are all gone except me."

"Oh, my gosh!" she cried. "I'm late for a meeting!"

"Hey, I'll talk to you later," he said. "I've got to go, too."

"Are you sure that's alright?"

"Sure," he replied. "See you."

"Bye," she said.

Time passed and Alex called her on the phone. They went out partying, and he sent her roses at work.

It was still a little early at the station when Kelvin arrived.

"Hey man, I'm so glad to see you," I said, "and how's the family?"

"Good," he replied. "Martha said hi."

"And the children?" I asked.

"Good," he said. "You know how kids are."

"Well, you're right on time," I said, "to help us comb the riverbanks. The river is a branch off the main channel. It snakes its way in and out of Savannah," I said. "We got about seventy-five men and women at the river right now."

"Great!" cried Kelvin. "I'm ready to go."

As the two left the station and headed for the river, they talked about old times and some of the cases they had worked on.

"Maybe we will find something," said Kelvin.

"I hope so," replied Daniel, "City Hall is on pins and needles now."

When they got there they divided everyone up into two teams, one on the right bank and one on the left. Daniel and Kelvin got into a small boat and combed the water's edge while the others combed the shores. About two miles down the river the sky suddenly began getting dark. As they reached an old swimming hole everything was quiet. They went a little farther and when they looked up and saw a canopy of tree limbs hanging over the narrow of the river. Suddenly they heard something fall into the water. Quickly, they looked around. There were hundreds of snakes hanging in the tree limbs, and crawling on the riverbank, hundreds of them. It was a nest of snakes.

"Look at that!" yelled Daniel. "Can you believe it?"

"I've never seen anything like it!" cried Kelvin.

Then they looked down. The snakes were swimming toward them. One fell in the boat. Luckily, they got it out.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" I shouted.

Quickly they turned the boat around and headed back.

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" said Kelvin.

"Not in my lifetime," I replied. "Not until now. It's time to get back."

By the time they got back to the bridge, the others had arrived also. The search had turned up nothing, and the search party was dismissed. Back at the station, Daniel reviewed the evidence of the case.

"This killer is awfully smart to get away with the crime and leave no evidence," said Kelvin. "He's not your average serial killer."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Notice the victim's bodies were clean. No hair particles, nothing under the nails, and no prints. This guy knows what he's doing. I don't think it's a hate crime, but more like the killer is trying to say something. A hurt and battered killer is reaching out for help through the gay community. The bodies were found in shallow graves with duct tape over their mouths, and their hands bound behind. The victims were found along the banks of the White River," said Kelvin.

"Do you think he's gay?" I asked.

"I don't know," replied Kelvin. "He may be out for revenge for some reason or other."

"Someone has done him wrong. Revenge, yes, but, no, I don't think he's gay. All the murders so far have the same signs. They are young, white gay males, 20-39 years of age, beaten, castrated, and left to bleed to death while still alive. Their testicles have been butcherly removed and pitched to the side, Kelvin. But what do you think about this?" I said. "You go to all that trouble to kill someone and then place a wooden cross necklace around their neck with a Bible verse."

"Let's look at the verses," said Kelvin, "and see what we come up with. First verse, first victim, 'Romans 3:23—For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.' Second verse, 'Romans 3:10—As it is written, there is none righteous, no, not one.' 'Romans 6:23—For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord'."

"I don't really know," replied Daniel, "but we have got one crazed sick-o out there."

"What about the chain and cross?" asked Kelvin.

"The chains are very common. You can get them anywhere," I replied. "But the cross is whittled out of red walnut. It's not native around here but is grown in East Tennessee, Virginia, and West Virginia. The red walnut was brought over here from Europe by the settlers. In the late 1600's a blight hit the trees and all were killed except for a few states. The red walnut has a smaller nut than the black walnut. It has a softer shell. The reddish, yellowish bark was made into tea by the Indians for sickness. Mixed with May apple root and wild trillium leaves it was used together to bring down fever.

"Daniel, check around and see if you can buy any of the wood locally," suggested Kelvin.

About that time an officer entered the room.

"We've got another body," he said.

Hurriedly they reached for their coats and put them on as they went through the door. On the way there they sat quietly. Both of them hoped for a break in the killings, anything that could give them a lead. Soon they were at the scene of the crime. It was on the north side of the White River. Making their way to the body, they found the same M.O.

"He mutilates the body, but he doesn't take any souvenirs from his victim. Do you think he knows his victim?" I asked.

"Maybe he picks them up at the bars," replied Kelvin. "I think it is a random killing. This victim's Bible verse was 'Romans 1:26-28—For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient'."

Daniel shook his head as the two detectives headed back to the car.

"Let's go by my church," said Daniel, "and see what Brother Mills says about the scripture."

"Sounds good," replied Kelvin.

Later on that day Katherine ran into Alex coming out of a restaurant on 5th Street. They stopped and talked for a minute. She told him she saw him on the 3rd Street Market and waved at him, but he didn't wave back.

"By the time I got across the street," she replied. "You were already gone."

"I haven't been on 3rd Street today," he said.

"But," she replied. "It looked like you."

"You must have thought it was me," he said. "I haven't been on 3rd Street in two or three weeks."

"I guess it could have been someone else," she replied. "But it looked like you."

"Well I have to go," he said. "I'll call you."

"Okay," she replied. "Call when you can."

As Kelvin and I pulled up to a small Baptist church, we went in to talk to Daniel's pastor. We gave him a list of the scriptures and asked him what he could make of it. He carefully looked each one up before speaking.

"Most of the scripture," he said, "is used in the Roman road to salvation. Most of the scriptures are found in the book of Romans."

"What do you think, Brother Mills?" asked Kelvin.

As Brother Mills sat back in his chair and thought a minute, he came up with this conclusion. "The killer may be a crusader, thinking he's Jesus, and he's judging the world of sin as he sees it."

"By taking matters in his own hands," I interrupted.

"Right," replied Brother Mills. "He thinks he's doing the right thing but fails to see the truth because he is so much in the dark."

"How do you think he chooses his victims?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know," he said. "He could pick them up to talk to them about their lives, like a minister, and then they follow him out to a remote place where he passes judgment on them."

"How can we catch him?" asked Kelvin. "Is there a sign or something we can go by in the scripture?"

"There's no way of catching him," said Brother Mills, "until he wants you to. He's not dumb, he's real intelligent. But he'll outsmart himself, if you give him time."

Thanking him, they got up to leave. At the car, I looked over to Kelvin, "Are you hungry?"

"Sure," replied Kelvin.

"I know an excellent country restaurant that specializes in white beans, hot water cornbread, greens and meatloaf."

"Sounds great," said Kelvin. "Let's go for it."

Things were pretty hectic for the next few weeks. Katherine didn't get to see Alex much. She was piled up at the courthouse with backlogged cases. They would grab a bite to eat when they could. Alex would drop by her house every once and awhile. He still sent her flowers and cards. They would catch a movie when she got off a little early, but the clubbing and partying slowed down.

Then late one evening it was pouring down rain when she was getting off from work. She saw him downtown. She followed him from a distance, but lost him in the rain. While on her way home, she had a flat tire on the other side of the bridge. When she stopped and got out to check her flat, a car pulled up. It was Alex.

"I am so thankful to see you," she said.

"Having a little trouble I see," he replied.

In a few minutes he had it changed. They were both soaked.

"Are you coming up to the house?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied. "I can for a few minutes.

She noticed he acted a little strange, sort of quiet and withdrawn. But she brushed it off as probably a bad mood. Shortly, they arrived at her house, and he followed her in.

"Thanks for helping me out," she said.

"Oh, that's alright," he replied.

She changed out of her wet clothes and slipped on her bathrobe. She suggested he get out of his wet clothes, but all she had was a big towel he could wear until they dried. Then she made a cup of coffee to warm them up from the cool rain.

"It hadn't rained that hard in a long time," she said.

Then he slid over to her and placed his fingers over her lips.

"Shhh," he hushed.

Then he started to kiss her as she lay back on the couch. Slowly her bathrobe fell open, revealing her as she removed the towel from between them. Afterwards they lay snuggled up together on the couch. As the time passed she noticed something.

"Didn't you have a scar on your shoulder?" she asked.

"A scar," he replied. "Whatever gave you that idea? I have never had a scar."

"But I could have sworn you did," she replied.

"No, not me," he said as he hurried to get dressed and leave. "Hey, babe, I'll talk to you later."

"Where are you going?" she asked. "It's still pouring down rain!"

"I've got to go. I'll see you later. I'll call you," he said.

"Bye," she replied as he disappeared out the door.

Later on that evening there was a knock at the door. It was Alex.

"Hey, I'm going up to Charleston, South Carolina, for some business. Would you like to go?" he asked.

"Sure, she said. "I've got the whole weekend off, why not!"

As they were leaving she asked him about his car. He told her it was in the shop so he rented one for the weekend.

"You ready?" he said.

"Sure," she replied. "Let's go."

The next day another body was found. But this time there came our first big break. Two gay men, Sandy Davis and Eugene Lewis, happened to be walking along the riverbank when they came upon a man burying a body in a shallow grave. By the time they got up to him he took off. But the two men were able to get a description. They called the police and in no time the river was surrounded.

"Daniel, it appears our man is at it again," said Kelvin.

"It looks that way," I replied.

Then one of the crime tech men found a partial print on the cross.

"That's what we have been waiting for!" I cried. "Thank you, Lord."

"Get that print down to the lab as soon as possible," ordered Kelvin, "and don't let it out of your sight."

"Maybe they'll find a match," I replied.

Then we turned to the two eyewitnesses. We began to get their story.

"We need you to come down to the station and look at some photos."

"Sure," they replied. "We will be glad to."

Then the other tech brought the Bible verse to Kelvin and me.

"Look at this," I said. "Isaiah 64:6-7—But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away. And there is none that calleth upon thy name, that stirreth up himself to take hold of thee: for thou hast hid thy face from us, and hast consumed us, because of our iniquities."

Kelvin shook his head and walked off.

"Another victim, same M.O. but a partial print and two eyewitnesses," I said. "Things are beginning to look up."

"It's about time," replied Kelvin. "Let's get to the lab."

About an hour later they had found a match. It belonged to an Owen Tillman of West Virginia. The lab was able to compare the partial print with the state of Georgia Fingerprint Bank but came up blank. But when they searched through the US fingerprint data they found it on his West Virginia license, which was expired.

Quickly Kelvin and I took a plane to Charleston, West Virginia. One of the officers from the local station picked us up and took us to get a car. In a matter of hours we were there and driving to the address on the license, 25-30 miles northwest of Charleston, West Virginia in the Appalachian Mountains.

It wasn't long until we entered Snook County. On up the road they pulled over at Ethal's Store at Highway Junction 100 and 443. There we got a drink and directions to Hog Back Ridge. Luckily, we were closer than they thought.

Hog Back Ridge was a turn off from Highway 100. We traveled on old wagon trails back through the hills and hollows. The road was narrow, but luckily, there were a few houses on it. We finally reached the house number on the license. It was empty and nearly collapsed.

"It looks like nobody has lived here in a long time," I said.

"Let's talk to some of the neighbors," suggested Kelvin.

As they walked down the road, they saw a man sitting on his porch.

"What do you say?" I said.

"You didn't hear me say anything," the old man replied.

"I'm Kelvin Todd of the FBI, and this is Daniel Hines, detective from Savannah, Georgia."

"What can I do for you?" he replied.

"We're looking for information of an Owen Tillman who used to live around here," we said.

"I'm Ray Dean Reed, his uncle. Salmer get out here. We have some men asking questions about Owen," he yelled.

A woman came out onto the porch.

"Do you want some souse meat with hot sauce?" asked Ray Dean.

"No, thank you," they said, "we're fine. We're looking for information about Owen Tillman," prompted Kelvin.

"What kind of information?" she asked. "Owen is dead, been dead now for years."

Quickly, Daniel and Kelvin looked at one another.

"What happened?" questioned Kelvin.

"He had a car wreck," she replied. "He's buried right over yonder."

"Can you tell us a little bit about him?" I asked.

Then without a warning Ray Dean broke wind and the old blue tick hound that lay on the porch got up and left.

Ray Dean cried, "Aunt Salmer, I'm sorry, but that souse meat works on me."

"Where did you get that necklace?" asked Kelvin.

"This old cross?" she said. "Why, Alex made it for me when he was young."

"Who is Alex?" I questioned.

"He's Owen's brother," she said.

"Do you know where he's at?" I replied.

"No, I don't," she said. "I haven't heard from him in years."

"Did Owen ever make them?" he replied.

"No, not that I can remember," she said. "Why?"

"I was wondering," he replied.

"Owen's mother was my sister. They had two sons, Alex and Owen. They were identical twins," she said. "Alex was an evil child. Owen was born with a slight mental problem which held him back. Alex and his friends molested Owen growing up. When Alex got older, he joined the army and moved away from home. My sister was so ashamed of what he did to Owen that they tried to keep it hid.

"Owen was a preacher too. He knew the word. Owen wasn't a God called preacher but a self-claimed one, a jackleg preacher, preaching a little here and there. But his lifestyle didn't prove out to be that of a godly man. When Owen was killed in a car wreck, they sent word to Alex. By the time Alex got home they had already buried Owen. It was in 1982 when he died. Owen would have been the least likely of the two," said Ray Dean. "Alex is the one I would be looking for. He's meaner than a snake."

"We would like permission to exhume the grave," said Kelvin. "We think Owen is still alive."

"What!" cried Aunt Salmer. "Why do you believe that?"

"We found one of his fingerprints at a crime scene. We can get a court order if you wish."

"No, that's alright," she said. "We are the only family left. It will be okay."

"Can I use your phone?" I asked. "I'll call the sheriff's department to come up and help."

"Good deal," replied Kelvin.

"Would you be interested in some crackling cornbread and pig's feet for dinner?"

"No, thanks," they replied.

Then Ray Dean broke wind again as he got up to go into the house to eat dinner. "Excuse me," he said.

"I wish you wouldn't eat any more souse meat and hot sauce, Ray Dean," fussed Salmer. "They're going to dig up Owen's remains. That poor child had already been through enough. Lord, help us."

"The wages of sin," said Kelvin. "The pieces are finally coming together. I bet you another country dinner that Owen's body is not in that grave."

"I agree," I said.

"Owen's abuse has driven him into a madman," replied Kelvin. "He was killing homosexuals for the sexual acts they did. His brother and friend put him through it. He was using them to make a statement and help bear his pain."

In a few hours, the sheriff and some of his deputies arrived, and they started to work on exhuming the grave.

"There may be two killers instead of one," I noted.

"I have thought the same thing," replied Kelvin.

"Sheriff, did you know Alex or Owen Tillman?" I asked.

"No, sir," he replied. "I've only been in office for eight years now. I'm sort of new in town. You may want to go over to the West Virginia Mental Hospital in Charleston and see if they were ever patients there. From what you have found out, they might have been."

"Thank you, sheriff," replied Kelvin. "We'll stop on our way back to the airport."

"These mountain people are funny people," I said, "funny ways."

"Yep," replied the sheriff. "The Appalachian people have their own beliefs and their own way of doing things. I'm really surprised you didn't have to get a court order."

Then suddenly the shovel of the digger hit something.

"We've about got it," yelled one of the deputies.

It wasn't long until they raised the coffin from the grave. As they slowly opened the casket, everyone stood in a state of shock. They didn't know what to expect. Suddenly the lid fell open, and everyone looked into an empty casket. Aunt Salmer passed out, buckling at the knees.

"That will do it," said Kelvin. "I think we have found our answer."

Slowly, Kelvin and I, and the sheriff walked back toward the car as the deputies filled the hole.

"Thank you, sheriff," I said. "We need to be going."

"I want to stop off at the hospital before they close," replied Kelvin.

As we headed back to Charleston, we were debating whether it was Alex or Owen or both. Shortly, we reached the hospital. I explained who we were and that we would like to see Alex and Owen Tillman's medical files. Luckily one of the doctors still worked there. She was reluctant to tell us anything, but when Kelvin told her he was thought to be a serial murderer in Savannah, she backed down.

"Alex," she said, "was a normal child, except for the mean streak in him. Owen was born with a slight mental disorder, which later seriously affected him. His paranoid schizophrenia and his later development of a split personality developed from the things Alex put him through growing up. It was evident that that turn of events would eventually drive him insane.

"He loved Alex and looked up to him, but he could never understand why he did the things he did to him. It appeared that Alex was jealous of Owen because their mother was fonder of Owen than him. Alex was mean with a black heart but as he grew older his anger and meanness tapered off."

"I think that will do," said Kelvin. "I think we have found our killer. Thank you, doctor, for all your help."

"You're quite welcome," she replied.

"Well, Daniel, we have a plane to catch," said Kelvin.

Back in Charleston, South Carolina, as they were getting ready to come home, Katherine couldn't help but notice the scar on Alex's shoulder. She started to say something, but she thought she would wait. Running late already, they hurriedly drove off. It had been a fun trip, and she dressed to go back to work. On the way home, she became more bothered about the scar.

"Alex, how did you get that scar on you shoulder?" she asked.

"Oh, that. I've had it ever since I can remember," he replied. "My brother and I were playing around. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I was just curious," she said.

"You have to know my brother," he replied. "He was a real mental case."

As the day ended, Katherine and Alex and Kelvin and I arrived back in Savannah. As soon as I was off the plane, I had an APB put out on both Alex Tillman and Owen Tillman. It was probably the biggest manhunt in Savannah history. Katherine dropped off Alex downtown and headed home.

That night, sirens cried into the night as its victims cried from their graves for justice. It took the Savannah Police Department three hours of combing the city for the two suspects. As Alex was leaving a bar downtown the police picked him up.

"What's going on?" he cried. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the station," said one of the arresting policemen.

"What are you charging me with?" he cried.

The other policeman replied, "Nothing right now. We are taking you in for questioning. Let's go," he demanded.

Immediately, Kelvin and I were notified. As we made our way down to the station, we met him face to face in the interrogation room.

"Okay, Alex," said Kelvin, "we are going to let you know what we know, and we want you to fill in the blanks. We just got back from West Virginia, and we talked to your Aunt Salmer and Uncle Ray Dean."

"Is Ray Dean still eating souse meat?" he jokingly asked.

"Look, Alex you don't realize how much trouble you may be in," I warned him. "We also know your brother Owen is alive."

"Alive!" he yelled out, "He can't be!"

"I'm afraid so," said Kelvin, "and we think one of you is behind these murders."

Then I spoke up, "We know what you and your friend did to your brother for all those years. I have also talked to his doctor at the hospital."

"Before you say anything else," Kelvin stated, "get a lawyer."

"Let him make his call," I said.

As we were bringing Alex out of the interrogation room, he saw Katherine, who had stopped off at the station for some files. Quickly, she ran up to him.

"Alex, what's going on?" she asked.

Then she turned to the detective.

"We're holding him for questioning," replied Kelvin.

"Questioning for what?" she asked.

"I'll explain it to you later," Alex interrupted. "This is not the time."

"Did you tell them you've been with me in Charleston, South Carolina the last few days?"

"No," he replied. "They haven't gotten quite that far."

"When can he be released?" she asked me.

"Later on this evening," I replied. "Okay, we have to go."

Then Kelvin turned to her, "You need to be careful," he said.

Then she quickly turned and left.

Later on that day, the two eyewitnesses picked Alex out of the lineup as the man they saw.

"Yeah, but was it Owen they saw or Alex?" replied Kelvin. "They're identical twins."

Quietly, Alex sat in his cell waiting for his release. As he sat there he started putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He thought and thought, trying to understand. There was something there, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then suddenly it came to him. Katherine had asked him about the scar. Owen didn't have a scar on his shoulder, but he did. Owen must have slept with her for her to be able to know the difference. His heart began to race as the clock ticked on. His hands were sweaty and he was restless to get out. He feared for Katherine's life. If there was one place he would be tonight it would be her house. He had to stop him. Suddenly, the cell door opened.

"You're free to go," said the jailer.

"Your alibi with the judge saved you for now," I warned him.

Hurriedly, he raced out the door. Reaching the street, he caught a cab.

Kelvin told me to have a tail put on him. Quickly the cab raced across town to the courthouse, and Alex told the cabdriver to wait as he dashed inside. By the time he reached Katherine's office, she was already gone. Back in the cab again he rushed up town, headed for White River toward Wilburn. Meanwhile, the tail had lost Alex lost in the traffic, and Alex and the cab were nowhere to be seen.

"He's headed for Judge Defiore's house. Come on, Daniel, let's go," said Kelvin as we quickly headed out the door.

Shortly, Katherine arrived home. As she unlocked the door, Owen grabbed her from behind and forced her inside.

"Alex!" she cried, "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? You're not supposed to be out until this evening!"

"I'm not Alex," he said. "I'm his brother Owen."

Then he ripped his shirt off at the shoulder. Franticly she tried to get away. But he was all over her.

"What do you want?" she cried.

"I want you to know I've got a secret," he said, "about what your precious Alex did to me."

As he explained, she began to cry and cover her ears as she fought to get away. Then he suddenly grabbed her, throwing her up against the wall, slapping her about, and calling Alex's name over and over. Then, without warning, Katherine grabbed a knife that lay on the bar and stabbed him in the stomach.

About then Alex bust through the door. Owen stood bent over with blood coming from his side. Quickly Alex leaped across the room toward him. As they fought, Owen pulled a gun out of his pocket and shot Alex, killing him. At the same time, Owen passed out and died. About then we pulled up and ran into the house. It was all over. Both brothers were dead and a battered woman stood over them.

After that night everything was much quieter in Savannah. I went on with my work, Kelvin went back to Atlanta, and Judge Katherine Defiore is still passing judgment.

Proverbs 14:12—There is a way which seemeth right, unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.

The Caw of the Crow

Fall had come early in 1953 in the little town of Stoneyhollow Way in Carol County, Tennessee. The gold, yellow, and red leaves had blanketed the ground with a thick coat. They created a mysterious feeling of the changing of the seasons. Winter was only a bit away, as the last leaves of autumn floated in the cool air.

My name is Benjamin Morris, but everyone calls me Benny. I attend college in Marshall County where I am studying to be a journalist. I am doing a story on the Legend of the Caw of the Crows, better known as The Scarecrow Murders. It is the story of an incident that happened some sixty years ago. I want my story to be as authentic as I can get it. So I am going to the place where it happened, Stoneyhollow Way, to nose around. But somewhere I must have made the wrong turn.

Oh no, I thought, surely I am not lost. I drove on, down a narrow dirt road out in the middle of nowhere, where I didn't see any houses, nor pass anyone on the road. Should I turn back? I thought, but I figured the road must come out somewhere. Carefully I drove on; the dust from the road was so bad it came into my car around the bottom of my doors and from under my backseat. I could taste the dust in my mouth as I took some deep breaths. It was hard to breathe.. I drove a little further. In front of me, I could see a little patch of black smoke hovering in the sky over the hill. Slowly, I approached the smoke. It was coming out of a chimney of an old weatherboard house, setting off the road, almost hidden in the trees. The black smoke gave it away. Carefully, I eased over to the side of the road and stopped. I look about, but I didn't see anything but a giant beechnut tree by a spring across the road, a small creek with some paw-paw trees, and a thicket of wild plums down the creek. I pulled up into the driveway and got out.

The house looked abandoned. The tin roof was stained with rust and wear. The windows had no screens but were a tarnished gray color from the dust and the settled rain. The porch was caved in on one corner held up only by a post. The porch had broken boards, missing planks, and a creepy darkness beneath it.

I yelled, "Is anybody here?" There was no answer. I yelled again and a covey of quail took flight from the field across the road. Then I stepped up on the porch. The boards, snapping and popping, gave slightly. I carefully made my way over to the door. As I started to knock, the door slowly opened.

A voice said, "May, I help you?

Out of the dark room stepped a man. A light bulb dangled from the ceiling by a twisted cord and lit up the room as he pulled on the string. My eyes searched the room, seeing scattered pieces of odd furniture in the cold shell of a room.

Then he spoke again, "May I help you?"

I nervously told him my name and that I was working on a story about the scarecrow murder which had supposedly happened in this area.

As he slowly stepped into the light, I could see him better. He was dressed in worn out, faded overalls with one suspender strapped across his shoulder. The other fell free down his back. His brogans were just as bad. They had slits cut in them to ease the tightness, I guess. The man's shirt was plain and wrinkled. His hair was white with a touch of black about the sides. His face was rugged with a scraggly beard.

We sat down on the porch to talk. The porch, I noticed, was already company to a three legged hound that lay curled up. "Get out of here you old hound dog," yelled the stranger as the dog hurried off the porch. Then he pulled out a homemade twist of tobacco, pulled out a pocketknife, and cut him a chew. As he placed the chew in his mouth, he eyed me from top to bottom. "My name is Virgil, but some people call me Virg."

"They call me Benny," I replied.

"So you want to know about the murders?" he said.

"Yes, sir," I replied. "I'm working on a research paper, and I would like to have all the local information I can get first hand. I grew up hearing tales about the murders."

"You did?" he said. "You're liable to hear about anything about those murders."

Then he spit, wiping the juice from his mouth with his sleeve. He said, "I've probably heard about it all." Then he laughed, "he—he—he."

"Are you originally from around here?" I asked.

"I guess—I guess you could say that," he replied. "I been about everywhere." Then he leaned forward in his chair, reached for a small piece of cedar, took his knife again and began to whittle. "There's only a few things in this life that I have found that I like," he said as the wood shavings flew in the air and fell into a small pile on the porch. "That was red-eyed gravy, ham and biscuits, the smell of rain in the summer and the smell of leaves burning in the fall."

Patiently, I sat and listened and began to jot down notes. Then he reached into a box and spit out into the yard. "You ever seen one of these homemade slingshots before?" he asked.

"Only in stores," I replied.

Then he reached for a small rock out of a pile that lay by the edge of the porch. Carefully, he placed it into a leather pouch, pulled it back, and closed one eye. Then suddenly he freed his fingers from the pouch and shot the rock out across the yard. It hit a tin can lying beside the creek.

"Hey, you're pretty good," I said.

"Here, you try it," he said, handing me the slingshot.

I took aim and shot, but I aimed too high and went over the can into the water.

"Not bad," he said and then he giggled, "he—he—he. Here try it again," he coached.

I took another rock, reloaded, carefully took aim and released the pouch. Pop sounded the stone as a smile crossed my face.

"Now you're getting it," he said. I reached to give it back but he said, "Keep it, I have plenty."

"Well, thank you," I replied.

I looked out from the porch and couldn't believe I was here in the place where the scarecrow murder had taken place. There was a giant walnut tree at the edge of the yard and a Shabbyback Hickory across the way. It was breathtaking.

"So you want to hear about the murder?" he said. "Well let me tell you what I know." He spit again, wiped his mouth with his hand, and began to speak. "The year was 1892; Stoneyhollow was a striving young town. It was well known for its many kinds of mineral water. People came from all around to drink and bathe in it. They thought it had spiritual healing. But today the town is no more than an empty shell, battered in ruins and empty wells. The curse of the gypsy, people say, eventually robbed the town of its life and turned it into a ghost town. It was told by many that there were four men at the bar that night drinking heavily. They were said to be a bunch of troublemakers."

"Those are the boys that started it all," I said.

"Yep, that's where it all came from. Some say those boys were the sons of the devil himself. Young Cyrus Willis—they called him Cy—was said to be the leader of this band. His younger brother, Billy Wayne, who had some sort of mental problem and two others, J.W. and Clinton, were seen together that night at the bar.

'Cy, where do you think you'll be ten years from now?' asked J.W.

'I don't know,' replied Cy. 'Where do you think you'll be?'

'Oh, I don't really care,' replied J.W.

'Why don't you go down and ask the gypsy camped outside of town. I bet she could tell you,' said Clinton.

'That's a bunch of bull,' laughed Cy. 'Clinton, you don't really believe in that do you?' mocked Cy.

'Bull,' laughed J.W. 'What's the matter, Cy, are you afraid to go down there? Afraid of what you might find out?'

'Afraid!' cried Cy. 'I'm not afraid of nothing, especially some old crazy fortune teller.'

'Hey, Cy,' interrupted J.W. 'Let's go down there and have a little fun. Let's show those gypsies some old fashion hospitality from Stoneyhollow.'

'Boys, I don't have time for that,' Cy replied.

'Cluck, bac, bac, bac,' sounded Clinton and J.W. 'Chicken, Cy's a chicken.'

'No he's not,' cried Billy Wayne, standing up beside his brother.

'Calm down, Billy Wayne,' said Cy. 'They're only teasing me.'

'Show them, Cy. You're not afraid,' said Billy. 'Let's go down there and have some fun.'

'Okay, boys,' agreed Cy. 'The party is with the gypsies tonight.'

"The gypsies were camped by Coon's Creek, which ran through most of the county. As they left the bar, so the story goes, little did they know that the darkness of the night would long hover over the town of Stoneyhollow."

"Coon's Creek, that's a new one on me," I said. "I heard they were camped out in a field."

"Trust me, son, I know a lot about the story you probably never heard," replied Virg. "You see that creek across the road?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"That creek runs out of Coon's Creek main stream not far from the site of the murder."

"Really?.Go on, Virg."

"Now where was I?" said Virg. "Roberta was a fair woman to look upon. She was the wife of Boone LaPaloma, and the mother of Jacqueline, who they called Jackie. Jackie means 'a child with mystic powers.' Roberta was a few years younger than Boone, and with her gypsy features she was a beautiful woman. As they finished supper, Roberta and Jacqueline cleaned up the dishes in the nearby creek. The story is told that when they were headed back to the wagon, Roberta sensed something was wrong. She took the pans Jacqueline had in her hand and told her to hurry and hide in the wagon. The child took off, sneaking into the back of the wagon where she hid. When Roberta got back to the wagon she woke Boone to tell him something was wrong. Suddenly, across the way, in the light of the moon, she saw the figure of four men coming that way. Then without warning her pet crow named Ollie began to caw and throw a shine.

'Caw, caw, Roberta Martinez,' he said, 'evil appears.' Martinez was Roberta's maiden name," said Virgil.

"Slowly, Boone stood to his feet and looked as the four men rode into their camp. 'Welcome,' yelled Boone as the men got down off their horses.

'Hello,' said Cy.

"The other men giggled. They all were about half drunk and the smell of cheap whiskey hung about them. Roberta stepped in front of the fire, and the glow of her beauty took the breath of the men. Cy had never seen a woman so beautiful in his life.

Then J.W. spoke up, 'Go on, Cy, ask her.'

'Ask me what?' she replied.

By now, Cy didn't care about some stupid old fortune. He was interested in her.

'Ask me what?' she said again.

'Tell her Cy,' said Clinton, 'chicken.'

Billy Wayne looked hard at him, and then turned to Cy.

Cy spoke up, 'The boys and I was wanting our fortune told. They said you could do it, but I say it's a bunch of bull.'

'Are you sure that's all you want?' she questioned them. 'Then after that, you'll leave?'

'Maybe,' said Cy with a slight giggle.

Then Ollie cawed and said, 'Evil approached, caw.'

'Hey, Cy,' said Billy Wayne, 'look at that crow. He can talk. How can he do that?'

'They say they split the tongue some way,' replied Cy.

'The splitting of the tongue releases the spirit of the crow's heart,' stated Roberta.

'She's not only good looking, she's smart too,' said Clinton.

'Hush up,' yelled Cy.

"Then Boone stepped up and told them it was time for them to go.

'Papa, I'll take care of it,' she said.

'Papa,' laughed Cy and the others. 'Papa, does she wear the pants in the family?' spoke up J.W.

Papa went to reach for his gun when Cy jumped him and took it away from him, pushing Boone back against the wagon. 'We don't want no trouble,' said Cy. 'We come only to have our fortune told.'

'Caw, caw, caw,' went Ollie as he nervously moved about his perch.

'Let's get it done,' said Roberta, 'and ya'll leave us alone.'

"Gathering around the campfire, they sat down and waited. In a few minutes, Roberta was thrown into a deep trance. Ollie sat quietly on his perch and watched the four men. Boone waited near the wagon. The men didn't know that Jacqueline was in the wagon, watching them through the cracks.

"Shortly, Roberta began to utter as a cold chill circled the fire. The men felt it, shivered and began to have second thoughts. In the distance, the wind howled as the full moon hid behind a passing cloud. Roberta opened her eyes and looked at the men with her deep cold dark eyes. Then she spoke. 'There was a seed that fell between stones that took root. It gave birth to a beautiful flower. As time passed, little to no rain fell and little to no sunlight shone upon it because the taller weeds surrounded it. As the weeds grew, they choked the flower out, but the weeds grew on.'"

"What did it mean?'" I asked.

"It was the curse she put on Stoneyhollow and the four men and their ancestors," said Virg.

"I never knew exactly what the words of the curse were until now," I said.

"How did you know?"

"You pick up bits and pieces down through the years," Virg replied. "You did want local information didn't you?"

"Sure," I said. "But you tell it like you were there."

"Maybe I was, in a way," laughed Virg.

"Come on, Virgil," I said, "it's spooky enough as it is."

Virgil just laughed, "He—he—he. The parable that she spoke made Cy furious.

'Bull!' he cried. 'You're nothing but a fake.'

"The others started to laugh and make fun of the gypsy. Cy grabbed Boone and started to dance around the fire with him, while the others grabbed Roberta and held her down and tore off her dress. Cy then slapped Boone and threw him against the wagon. But little did Cy know, Boone had hit his head on the wagon wheel, bringing him to his death. One by one, they toyed with Roberta, having their way, as she fought to get away. But the men were too strong and she was weak. Jacqueline watched from inside the wagon, scared to death. She wanted to help, but she was afraid they would rape and kill her, too. As they had their way with Roberta, Ollie cawed and took flight, attacking the men, trying to drive them away from her.

'Caw—caw—caw-evil men,' he cried. 'The eyes belong to me.'

"Suddenly Cy slapped Ollie out of flight, knocking him to the ground. Quickly he reached for him and picked him up and then rung his neck. He then pitched Ollie's body down beside Roberta as tears filled her eyes. Then Billy Wayne had his turn with her. Little did the men know that Billy Wayne's seed would be the seed that would fall between two stones and impregnate her.

'Curse be you all!" she cried, 'and your town. There will come the time you'll wish you were never lived.'

"When she conceived the sky became angry, and the moon appeared to cry. The men laughed at her and kicked her, slapping her around. Suddenly, they heard a roaring sound in the sky; they grabbed their ears. Looking up, they saw the full moon hanging high over some nearby trees. There roosted a covey of crows that took flight and attacked the men. 'Caw, caw, caw,' they sounded as hundreds flogged the men. Quickly the men grabbed their horses and fled the camp. As the crows brutally attacked them they plucked J.W.'s eyes out and devoured his face, bringing him to his death. The others escaped into the woods as the crows went back to roost. Roberta crawled over to Boone, but it was too late. Her heart was filled with anger, and she cried out into the night with a haunting cry that the men heard from the distance.

'What was that?' asked Clinton.

'I don't know,' replied Cy, 'but let's get out of here.'

'Wait for me, Cy!' cried Billy Wayne.

Jacqueline hurried out of the wagon and ran to her mother in tears.

'Papa is gone,' cried Roberta. 'Papa is gone.'

'Oh, Papa,' cried Jacqueline, 'why, why?'

"Legend has it, Benny, that the curse began with Billy Wayne's seed at 2:00 o'clock in the morning. Roberta and Jacqueline put Boone's body into the wagon and left that night out of the valley into the hills.

"J.W.'s body, so they say, there wasn't much left of him. The townspeople ruled some wild animal attacked and killed him. That night Cy and the others left Stoneyhollow Way and disappeared.

"Out of the north blew a wind that drove Roberta and Jacqueline high into the mountain where they lodged between two hills of a valley that was long ago forgotten. In the valley, they buried Boone and Ollie and took refuge in a small cave hollowed out of the cliffs. Time passed in the valley. Jacqueline cared for her mother, who was with child.

"Winter fell hard that year and settled into a long bitter season. You could hear the caw of the crows high above in the trees where they roosted. They watched over Roberta and Jacqueline and brought them food. As the north winds blew the cold bite of winter and heavy snows into the valley, it sometimes made it hard to survive, but the two women were strong and determined not to let it get them down. Their lives were interwoven, bonded together from the attack of the men. There would be no peace till the curse was fulfilled.

"The longing of spring weighed upon their hearts. As the last signs of winter melted away, the early mountain flowers opened to spring. Finally, the cold bite of winter had passed. The valley had come alive with flowers, budding trees, and a warm stir in the breeze. The air was clean and brisk, filled with the fragrance of wild flowers. The enchanted songs of the birds awakened spring from its sleep.

"Jacqueline's spirit had drawn her to the edge of the cliffs that overlooked Stoneyhollow. As she stood that day upon the cliff, a great wind blew, and her hair waved in it. She knew that day that the men would return. From that day onward she waited. The coming of summer saw Roberta's child delivered with the help of Jacqueline. She bore a son and named him Nicholas. Jacqueline was twelve years old.

"Time passed and the child grew. Roberta had passed not long after childbirth, leaving Jacqueline to take care of the child. She was no more than a child herself left with a burden and curse that would remain with her till her dying days. Her mother, before she died, told her that she would no longer be called Jacqueline, but Jackel. On her mother's death bed, she promised her that she would seek revenge on the men, and the curse would be fulfilled.

"Two years later she stood on the cliff, the wind blowing as it had that first day she stood there. She knew one of them had returned. Not long afterward, Clinton, one of the men, was riding through the woods taking a shortcut back to Stoneyhollow. He became spooked with an awful feeling that someone was following him. Quickly, he looked about, but saw no one.

"As he went a little further, his heart began to race, and his horse became nervous. Suddenly, across the woods, a shadowy figure crossed the way. Then he saw it again from his side. He couldn't make it out; it was too fast. Then he heard a crying sound, and, as he looked, he saw a flock of crows nervously flying about, cawing. Then it happened again, and the shadowy figure raced for cover.

'Who's there?' he shouted. 'I'm going to shoot!'

As he raised his gun to fire, Jackel stepped out from the trees.

'Who are you?' he yelled.

She replied, 'Jackel.'

"Then all of a sudden the crows took flight, spooking the horse, throwing him off backwards, and breaking his neck. The woods were blanketed with a black maze of crows hovering over Clinton's body, plucking his eyes out and disfiguring his face. Quickly the crows took flight, and it seemed there were hundreds, darkening the sky. Then they say Jackel went over to his body and reached down and cut off a lock of his hair before leaving for the valley. When she arrived home, she took the hair and laid it upon her mother's grave.

"Not far away, Clinton's horse had stopped running and stood drinking water at Coon's Creek. A man from town was passing by and took the horse by the reins, hoping he could find the owner. As they entered the woods, the man looked up through the tree tops and noticed a covey of crows flying about and cawing. He was afraid someone may be hurt. The horse led him back into the woods to Clinton's body. Fear fell over him. He couldn't believe it; it was horrible. Terrified, he quickly ran back to the creek where he got on his wagon and took off toward town.

'I had never seen anything like it!' he cried as he told the townspeople what he had seen. They got together and followed him to the place. It was horrible. No one had ever seen anything like it.

'But who was it?' asked one woman.

'Look at all the crows,' said the man who found the body. 'I have never seen so many.'

Then one man spoke up, 'It might be Clinton. I saw him ride out yesterday, and he may have been on his way home.'

A woman cried, 'Look at his face, what's left of it!'

'It must have been a wild animal,' somebody said.

Another man in the crowd replied, 'A bear or mountain lion may have done this.'

'Well, there's nothing we can do for him now,' said another man. 'Let's get him back to town.'

'We need to be careful!' a woman cried. 'They may attack again.'

'Should we get a hunting party?' asked one man.

'No,' said another. 'I don't think they will come into town.'

They carried Clinton's body back to town. The talk spread like wildfire. People were afraid to go out. Everyone was in before dark, locked down with lights out till morning. Fear had bound up the town."

"Do you think, Virg, they realized the curse?"

"Well," he replied. "They didn't say anything about it, then, but I believe the people knew deep inside."

"A year passed with no more attacks, and the people of Stoneyhollow Way had put it behind them. The children began to play outdoors once again. The townspeople started taking their leisure walks, and again, the men hunted in the woods.

"The spirit of Jackel stood upon the cliffs once again, with the taunting of the wind. At that time, Cy and Billy Wayne rode into Stoneyhollow Way. The people watched for they knew Cy was evil in his ways, and wherever he went, trouble followed. He, in return, watched the people, his devilish laugh taunting them into fearing him. He returned because he had heard about Clinton. Cy recalled that night near Coon's Creek, and what had happened with the gypsy. He also remembered the same thing happened to Clinton that happened to J.W. That was no coincidence; things like that don't just happen. He thought the gypsy lived somewhere around here, and the only way to put an end to the curse was to kill her and the baby.

"As they rode up to the hotel, he told Billy, 'We'll rest here, make some inquiries, and head out in the morning for the mountains. If she was held up anywhere, that's where she would be.'

"That day darkness fell over Stoneyhollow Way and remained till the town became a ghost town years later. The fear of death haunted it. The people knew something bad was going to happen, but what they did not know. There were rumors in the past of things that had happened, but it was kept hush-hush by the townspeople because of their fear of Cy. The curse they had heard of was never talked about and when they saw Clinton they began to wonder.

"The day of redemption was soon coming and everyone feared for their life. They quickly took refuge and boarded their windows and doors. Jackel sat upon the cliffs and perched about her were some crows. As she watched, the fear of death hung over the town. She knew it wouldn't be long now. She would stand before the devil himself, Cy.

"That night the crows attacked the town. The townspeople could hear the crows outside trying to get in, flying, flocking, and cawing. As the wind raped the town with dust and rain, you could hear the crying of a child screaming in the night. Cy and Billy Wayne lay in bed, listening to the cry of the child. Cy, with his stone face and deep set eyes, never said a word. His heart was hard and his soul was bitter as he awaited sunrise.

"Billy, who was childlike, looked up to his big brother. He loved Cy and Cy loved him more than anything. Cy had practically raised him after their parents died; all they had was each other. Cy and Billy waited. It wasn't long till the sunlight crept through the boarded windows of the town.

"That morning as the people rose and began to stir, they stepped outside. Everything was quiet, only the wind stirred. There were hundreds and hundreds of dead crows lying on the ground, on porches, roofs, and sidewalks. Hundreds of them were dead and their blood was on everything: walls, roofs, windows, and doors. The people didn't know what to make of it. It looked like the crows had committed suicide. The street was covered in the crows' blood.

'What are we going to do?' said one townsperson.

'Well, we can't leave them here,' said another. 'We have to take them outside of town and burn them.'

"About then, Cy and Billy Wayne walked out of the hotel. The town watched. As Cy walked, he stepped on the birds and mashed them into the ground. Billy reached to pick one up but Cy slapped it out of his hand.

'No,' he cried. 'Come on, Billy.'

"Everyone pitched in, moving the crows as the two men rode out. As Jackel watched, she saw two riders headed for the foothills. She knew it must be Cy. As she watched from the cliffs, she saw a heavy black smoke coming up outside of town. She knew they were burning the dead crows.

"Cy knew he was being watched. He kept both eyes sharp and his ears keen. Soon it would all come to a head and they both knew that. Only one would walk away when it was finished.

"As he started up into the mountain, he stopped off at a small patch of sagebrush. There they rested a few minutes and Cy rolled up a cigarette. Suddenly he heard an ungodly scream that sent chills down his spine. Then out flew a covey of crows into the air. He reached for his gun and began to shoot. Three or four birds fell to the ground. He told Billy to stay put till he got back. Quickly, he mounted his horse and headed up the mountain slope. Jackel slowly rose up out of the sagebrush. But in the excitement Cy had dropped his cigarette on the ground. As the wind began to stir, the fire quickly spread. In a matter of minutes, Billy Wayne was circled by high flames and fire. Scared, he began to cry for Cy, but the crows had attacked him, knocking him off his horse.

'Billy, Billy!' he cried.

"The crows fought him, holding him back from reaching Billy. Soon the fire had engulfed the field and there was nothing left but Billy's charred body. As Jackel stepped up to Billy's body, she cut a piece of his singed hair. The crows began to fly in and eat on the body.

"By then, Cy had gotten away and was running toward the field, but when he got there he saw what was left of Billy. He fell beside the body and screamed out and cussed. The townspeople could see the smoke from the foothills, and they figured it was Cy and Billy Wayne. As the smoke slowly cleared away, they saw a few crows flying above.

"Then Cy rose from his brother's body, and he looked about. High up toward the mountain, he saw a girl standing on the cliff. He called out and cussed her and her child and vowed he would revenge his brother's death, if it killed him. As he started up the mountain slope, Jackel went to her mother's grave and placed the swigs of Billy's hair upon her grave. Then she waited for Cy to arrive.

"Hours later Cy made it up into the valley. When he arrived, he carefully looked around. He saw no one. As he walked, he came upon the graves of Boone, Roberta, and Ollie. He turned about and thought, if she's dead then who was it I saw up on the cliff? Then Jackel stepped out.

'Who are you?' he asked.

'I am Jackel,' she said. 'I was hidden in the wagon that night. I am Roberta and Boone's daughter.'

'I knew I should have checked the wagon,' he said. 'But it's too late now.'

"As he reached for his gun, out of the trees flew a covey of crows, attacking him. He took off running and the crows drove him toward the cliffs. As he reached up to grab some vines to hold onto, he lost his balance. He went head first over the cliffs, hanging himself with the vines around his neck. The crows moved in and covered his face. Jackel climbed down and took a piece of his hair and placed it upon her mother's grave.

"The sky turned black then, as the thunder roared. It began to rain. Jackel took refuge in the cave with Nicholas. The body of Cy hung from the cliffs, and the cry of the crows haunted the valley and the people of Stoneyhollow Way. The townspeople knew something bad had happened."

"Virgil, I have never heard the story quite that way. You make it sound so real, like you were there."

Virgil laughed, "I've been around all right," he said, "and seen a lot of things. My mother told me a lot about what she knew. But she's gone now."

"What happened to the town?" I asked.

"The legend went on to say that after Cy's death the burden was lifted from Jackel.The town was dying. A few years later some of the townspeople came down sick with a mysterious disease. People were dying and no one could figure out a cure. The disease had become an epidemic. Doctors from all around came to help. They quarantined the town; no one could get in and no one could leave.

"The disease was later called the crow's disease. They believed that when the crows attacked the town, they spread a virus through the people's blood. The virus came from a rare blood disorder where the blood wouldn't clot. The white blood cells would neutralize, causing it to stop fighting diseases. The blood becomes so thin, causing the organs to bleed from the inside out, and causing death. Finally, the town literally died out, except for a few people who made it somehow.

"But stranger than that," said Virgil. "Stories are told, mainly folklore, that years ago back in 1934-38, the town had come back alive through the children of the old town. During that time they say there were four women raped, and all bore children. The townspeople believed it was the son of Billy Wayne who had came back to avenge his family. But it was never proven. They say each victim was a descendent of the four men who raped Roberta."

"You have to be kidding!" I cried. "This is great! I have never heard this before. What happened after that? Did all the townspeople die?"

"You can say that," replied Virgil. "It was bad, real bad, they say. There's not many who know that part. It was said that the blood of Nicholas, Billy Wayne's son, was placed into the women and their children during the rape. But the question was if the disease spread on with their four children."

"I don't know," I replied. "Did it?"

"I don't know," said Virgil. "Who would be living to tell? Only Nicholas, who had some of his mother's blood mixed in with his that he might live on. Things do happen."

"What about Jackel?" I asked.

"Jackel and Nicholas remained in the valley for the rest of her life. The years ahead, 1903-1934, were called the years of silence. During that time, Nicholas grew up and Jackel grew old. He had adopted Jackel as his mother and a sister. Nicholas grew to be a man; Jackel grew old and feeble. She died in 1939 at the age of sixty-nine, leaving Nicholas alone. He buried her with the rest of the family and remained in the valley till 1943 when a bad drought killed all the trees and turned the valley barren. After that, he disappeared, and no one has seen him since. There's an old folktale of a light seen in the mountain at night from Stoneyhollow, near the cliffs. The townspeople say it's Nicholas looking, visiting the family that he so loved. Coon and fox hunters have told tales they have seen the light late at night and they say also you can hear him crying like the crows. Till this day they say it's haunted the valley and Stoneyhollow Way."

"Do you have any family still around, Virgil?" I asked.

"No, I don't," he replied. "I am the last of mine. Mama and daddy are gone and my sister, too. It won't be long till I'll be gone. But you know, I'm glad my mother's side of the caw of the crows will be told through your paper. Maybe you'll do good on it."

"I hope so," I said. "I've got some great material this time."

"Hey, sport, what about taking one more shot with the sling shot, for old times' sake?"

"Sure, Virgil."

"You see that old fruit jar across the creek on the bank?" Virgil said.

"Yeah, yeah, I see it."

Carefully, I aimed, pulled back, held, then released.

"Not bad," said Virgil.

"But I missed," I said.

"But you were close and sometimes that says a lot," chuckled Virgil, "he-he-he."

I told Virgil goodbye and thanked him for all his help. "I'll bring you a copy when I get done," I called out from the road.

"You do that!" cried Virgil. "Good luck."

Virgil told me how to get back on the right road to get home. While on my way, I went over and over the story he had told me. The facts were so clear, and the story was so original. I was sure to get a good grade and I owed it all to Virgil. As I drove along, I picked up the slingshot he had given me. I was admiring his craftsmanship when I noticed some lettering under the edge of the tape. I quickly pulled over to the side of the road. Then I pulled off the tape from around the handle of the slingshot. There I found carved in the handle the name Nick Martinez. My smile quickly left my face as a chill ran up my spine. "Nick Martinez," I whispered; could it be? Then suddenly I heard a thump on the hood of the car. Quickly, I looked about to see a crow standing there—caw—caw—caw, sounded the crow. Then it sounded like,he said, "Roberta says hi." As the crow took flight, I threw my car in gear, and as I left, there was nothing but a rolling cloud of dust left behind.

Weeping Waters

It was August and September grew near. As autumn began to fall, the worst part of the summer's scorching sun had all but paralyzed us. The year was 1927 in Windle, Missouri, in Holt County. We lived in a little community called Weeping Waters, just off State Highway 44. Weeping Waters lay at the bottom of the hills and mountains of the Ozark. It lay flat across the valley of Mount Pierce, stretching north to the southeast. Its timber dressed it, the meadows lay in want, and Dutch Creek fed it.

I had bought a farm and house up in Jack-leg Hollow a few years before. There I began to homestead with my new mail-order bride. Her name was Rosemary, but I called her Rose or Rosey for short. My name is Grady Pedigo. Rose was everything she said she was in her letters and more beautiful than the pictures she had sent. I was ten years older, but she didn't seem to mind. We both felt like we were twenty again. I was 48 and she was 38. We were so happy, and that was all that mattered.

She had long auburn hair that fell about her waist, but most of the time she wore her hair up. She was light skinned with some freckles about her face, her brown eyes glittered, and she spoke with a British accent. I was just a rugged farm boy, dark hair, and dark complexioned; my hands were calloused from hard work. My smile was slight, along with my dry humor. My face, with just a shadow of a beard, was weathered from the repeated days in the sun.

The farm had an old weatherboard house with a lot of the paint chipped off. On the land was a barn, smokehouse, hen house, a cellar, a tractor shed, and a tobacco barn.

Rose loved the farm and all the animals—chickens, cows, mules, horses, hogs, turkeys, and guineas. My two old dogs lay on the porch most of the time, trying to stay out of the sun. There was a coon dog, and an old stray that I named Poot. Sometimes when I took the dogs hunting, they would tree a coon. I would bring it home, dress it, and put it in a pot of boiling water. I would put some barbecue sauce on it, and put it in the oven for a while. Sometimes I put sweet potatoes around it. It made some fine—eating about as good as turtle. Most of the chickens were kept up but there were some that ran about in the yard. You could see them under the porch through the cracks in the floor.

I'll never forget Rosey's first day home when she met my old rooster, Naked Ass. He got after her and chased her about the yard. I laughed, but it was more funny to me—not to her. I shared with her later that I named him Naked Ass because he didn't have any tail feathers. Rose was afraid to go out, but she soon got over that. She caught Naked Ass and put him into a pot!

We believed we had the world by the tail. She was my world, and I was hers. I took her into town not long ago to let her see the goat man. He was an old man who traveled about the countryside with a wooden wagon and a team of billygoats. He was a sight to see, but the smell you could hardly bear. She was amazed, but she had to hold her nose.

I planted her a flower garden, and she dressed it with daylilies, holly hocks, red-hot pokers, daisies, and black-eye Susans. The early flowers of buttercups, wild bluebills, ferns, and trillium brought spring in early after the bitter bite of winter. But autumn had fallen by now and a voluntary Indian turnip had bloomed in the fall.

There was a giant, scaly bark hickory that rested by the well. I was told when I bought the place that the well was dry. It was about fourteen feet deep. The owners, years ago, had it dug for water but found none. They said the man who witched for water was traveling through. We spent evenings gathering hickory nuts and walnuts from the trees on the banks of the driveway.

Things don't always stay the same forever; things change. The first three years were perfect. But as time passed, I sensed she was growing restless and becoming more withdrawn. I guess the excitement of the honeymoon period was slowly fading. At night I sat on the porch smoking my pipe after a long day in the field. She didn't like my pipe and asked me to smoke outside. That didn't bother me; I paid it no never mind. I liked listening to the crickets and frogs down by the pond. But sometimes when the wind was stirring in the dark night skies, I could hear the weeping waters cry. There's an old waterfall up the creek form the house, and there is an old Ozark folklore that says when the wind blows a certain way through the waterfall it sounds like a child or woman crying. Sometimes it sounds like a man. I have heard it several times. I have noticed that when you hear the strange eerie sound, not a cricket or frog can be heard. Rose heard it right off on the first few nights she was here. She's afraid of it. Sometimes late at night we were awakened by the haunting cry. It sent chills down your spine. She thinks it's of the devil and it's evil. But, you get use to it after a while.

Then one day while I was out in the garden, I heard her screaming inside the house. Suddenly she ran out in the yard, screaming and shaking all over. I ran over and pulled her into my arms. As she held back the tears she screamed out that there was a snake in the house. I laughed, and she slapped me on my chest and yelled that it wasn't funny. I told her I would check it out. As I slowly entered the house with a hoe in my hand, she stayed outside. I began to look around but saw nothing. I continued through the house but still saw nothing. Then I reached into the closet and got an old shoe. I placed it in a pan and doused it with some kerosene, setting it on fire. I watched and waited. The rubber-smelling smoke, they say, will drive a snake out so you can kill him and get him out of the house. Patiently, I waited as the old black smoke filled the air. Suddenly, I saw him crawl out from under the couch. I turned the hoe up and came down on the snake, killing him. As I turned, Rose stood on the porch. I picked the snake up by his tail and headed for the door. It was an old chicken snake that must have crawled up through one of the cracks in the floor. As Rose stepped aside, I carried the snake out toward the edge of the field and threw him on the ground.

Eventually, trouble came to paradise. Rose became distant. At first I thought she missed England and her family, and I guess, in some ways she did. As the days went by I began to notice she was taking long walks during the day, and would be gone for hours. I would ask her if something was wrong, and she would just say she needed some time alone. So I went along with her. As the days went by I waited, hoping she would get better, but it got worse. When we went to bed at night she started turning her back on me. She never was in the mood, always tired and showed no interest at all. I went along with her; days became weeks, and then months, but still, no changes. Something was wrong, and it was starting to eat at me. This wasn't right.

A couple of weeks later, I had to go into town. Windle was about an hour and a half drive from Weeping Springs. I wanted to get an early start because I wanted to get back to do some work in the fields. I asked Rose if she wanted to go with me and do some shopping, but she said she was going to stay home and do something around there. I told her that was alright and I would be back later in a few hours.

I jumped into my truck and headed out. I guess I had been gone about forty-five minutes when it dawned on me I had left my bank papers at home. So I turned around and headed back home. As I neared the house my old truck started to cut out and miss. Then it finally stopped. It acted like some water had gotten into the tank somehow, and it had quit on me. So I decided to walk the rest of the way and bring my gas can back to put more gas into my truck. I knew it was okay because I had it in the shed.

It was hot that day as I approached the house. I went in and got my papers. I didn't see Rose anywhere. I figured she was on another one of her walks. I turned about to head for the shed for the gas can. When I stepped out on the porch, I thought I heard something in the barn. At first I paid it no mind. Then I heard it again. I quietly stepped off the porch, across the yard to the barn. Peeping in, I saw rose and another man. I didn't know him or even where he came from. We lived in a remote area, and we hardly ever saw anyone. I watched for a few minutes more. They both acted like teenagers. He looked to be younger than her. I gritted my teeth in pain and anger. A lot of bad thoughts raced through my mind, and I pulled back and buried my face in my hands. It all was coming together now. I bowed my head for a minute, and then turned and walked away. I went to the shed and headed down the road back to my truck. They never knew I was there.

A lot of things changed with me that day. Inside I felt like a dead man, empty and hollow. Little did I know that as time passed my bitterness would eat at me, driving me into uncontrollable anger. I never confronted her about what I had seen. I played along with her game until my moment came. She continued her walks, and I followed from a distance. Upstream, not far from the house, was an old water shed that I had forgotten about. An old shack sat near it. There's where she met the man from the barn. His name was Joseph, a nice looking young man with wavy hair and dark eyes. I watched them as they disappeared inside and not long after they reappeared. My anger raged, but I was able to contain it, for I knew my time would come. As she kissed him goodbye, she headed for the house. She knew it wouldn't be long until I'd be home. She thought I was on the back side of the farm, but I was only a few feet away. The best I could tell, he must have been a drifter who had taken up shelter in the springhouse, and she may have met him when she started her walks. I noticed that when she came back from her walks she was always in a big way, except when I tried to touch her. Then she turned cold and turned away. But little did she know what I knew.

At night it was the same, and I lay facing the other way planning my revenge in a way it would benefit me. Sometimes at night, I would get up and sit on the porch, dark except for the light of the moon. Sometimes the cries from the waterfall rambled about in the night. I often wondered about the man in the old springhouse, about the weeping waters across the way, how he felt. The cries seemed to come more often than before, and even to me, they have become more frightening.

A few weeks later, I was sitting at home drinking some of my homebrew, when she came back in from one of her walks. I dropped my head slightly because I was drunk and mumbling things. When she turned, I reached out and grabbed her by the hair of the head and slung her up against the wall. Then I pressed her against the wall and ripped her dress off of her, leaving nothing but a bra and panties and a belt around her waist. Next, I carried her into the bedroom. She cried out, screaming and hollering. She may have been putting up a good fight, but between my anger and homebrew she was no match for me. In a few minutes, she rolled me off of her, and I passed out on the bed. She jumped up screaming and crying, and ran out the door toward the creek.

In a few minutes, I awoke and stood in the doorway. As she raced across the field she was crying out for Joseph. She had reached the springhouse by the time I caught up with her, but I stayed at a distance. I saw her crying and trying to explain what had happened. But he just laughed and paid her no mind. It was easy to see that he didn't care for her. I worked my way back to the house and fell asleep in the bed.

When morning came, I was alone in bed. I went into the living room and found her asleep on the couch. I fixed me some coffee. I woke her up without speaking, and she went upstairs to the bed.

About a month went by after that, and we spoke very little. I had moved from the bedroom to the couch. She had started being sick a lot, and she kept to herself. I spent most of my time in the fields with the crops. About all I remember her saying during that time was that I, Grady Pedigo, was a hard man. Then one morning she came to me and told me she was pregnant. At first I said nothing, but questioned in my mind who the daddy was. Inside there was a glimmer of hope for the son I had always wanted. Maybe this hope could turn us around—our home, and our marriage. But I still held back because the child may not be mine; I told her I needed some time.

That evening she took her walk. This time I stayed behind. I assumed she was going to confront him about the child. When she returned, I could tell by the look on her face it must not have gone very well. From what I could understand from her mumbling and crying, he didn't want any part of her or the baby. She cried the rest of the evening and fell asleep.

After that things seemed to start to turn around for us. We began to talk more and spend a little more time together. She still took her walks, but not as many as before. But I knew she still had him in the back of her mind. Eventually he must have moved on for she finally gave up her walks and stayed around the house more. She had begun to show and the more pregnant she became the more it didn't matter to me who the father of the child was. Besides, the child couldn't help it. I had longed for a son, one to pick up where I left off. A man to work the fields, marry and give me grandchildren. A girl would be good, too, but a son could walk in my shoes in the fields. Rose, I believe, had a sense of who the daddy may have been, but she never let on.

The crops were nearing harvest time and the pregnancy appeared a good thing out of bad circumstances. She did well at first, then she started having some problems. She began to have pains and had to stay off her feet for a while. I stayed close by for the next few days, and then she took a turn for the better. The complications may have been because of her first child.

I had started turning things around within myself. Hate is such a wicked word and forgiveness brought peace to my soul. I had already thought of some names for the child. I told her some of them and she just smiled a little and pitched some names back at me. She wanted to name it after her mama if it was a girl. We both agreed on Joshua if it was a boy. I never could bring myself to let her know I knew about the affair. It didn't seem quite as important now.

Late in the evening we sat out on the porch. I smoked my pipe and she sat on the steps as we exchanged small talk. I had moved back into the bedroom. I slept on my back and she lay beside me. I still had some bad thoughts of things, but I tried not to let them settle in my mind, nor trouble me. I, too, have done some wrong in my life, some things more wrong than her wrongs. I like to think back of the first three years we had, the laughter, the love, and happiness.

When morning came the next day, I left home and headed for a nearby tobacco patch to start cutting tobacco. Rose had said she felt better and she wanted to pick some late ripe tomatoes out of the garden. I guess I had been gone about thirty minutes when all of a sudden I heard someone screaming. Quickly, I threw down my tobacco knife and ran toward home. The hired hands that were helping me followed closely. "Grady, Grady!" was all that I could hear and I knew it had to be Rose. When I got to the house I heard her voice from the garden. I raced over to her as the others followed me. There I found Rose lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. I turned to the workers and told them to bring the truck around, that I was going to have to take her to the doctor. One of them grabbed the keys and pulled the truck up next to the garden. The others helped me get her into the truck. She was in so much pain. I looked on the ground in the puddle of blood and there lay a small object. I knew then what had happened; she had miscarried. As I jumped into the truck, Rose cried out in pain.

When we arrived at the doctor's office he examined her and I was right. She had lost the baby, but Rose would be alright. I remember the look on her face as he took me by the hand and said, "I'm sorry, Grady." My world stopped right then. The doctor gave her some medicine and let her go back home. She was to stay off her feet for a while and rest as much as she could. It had been a long drive back home. Neither of us said a word. Then she spoke up. She dropped her head and said she had something to tell me. I kept my silence. I knew what she was going to say.

"I have been unfaithful," she said. "I met this man, a drifter, one day on one of my walks, and I started seeing him down by the old springhouse. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't mean to hurt you, Grady. I don't know what to say or how to feel. After I got pregnant, I found out he didn't want me, that I had been used. But you stood by me. I believed all along that you knew, but never said anything. Did you?"

I didn't say a word. I wanted her to get it all out.

"After I got pregnant, he left and I haven't seen him since."

"Do you think the baby was mine?" I asked.

She paused for a moment and said, "Truthfully, I really don't think it was. But I don't really know."

I felt a big knot in my throat. I squinted my eyes to hold back the tears.

"He's gone now, Grady, and I pray that you will forgive me and let us try again."

"We'll see," I replied. "It's going to take some time and some hard work."

"I don't blame you if you hate me, but I hope and pray that someday you'll forgive me."

"I am glad you told me," I replied.

When we got home, she went in and lay down. I grabbed a shovel and buried the remnants of the baby. I buried the baby beside the dry well under a Formosa Tree and made a cross for its marker. Then I took some roses from a rosebush in the yard and placed them on the grave.

Things went well for a while. I got the tobacco cut and put into the barn. Rose got back on her feet again and finished canning and putting up the garden stuff. I cut and bailed the hay and put it into the barn. The corn was about ready and there was wood to be cut and brought in. It seemed like as long as we stayed busy, it helped to deal with the pain. Every day I visited the grave and spent some time there. I would always leave fresh flowers; Rose stood back and watched out the window.

Things would never be the same between us again. I knew that and so did she. We were two people existing from day to day and it seemed what we had was all but gone.

Not long afterward, I noticed Rose had started taking her walks again. It didn't take me too long to realize he must be back again or possibly it could be someone else. It was apparent, though, that the things she had stated earlier were nothing but lies. But I had a plan from the beginning. I just wanted to have the right time to carry it out.

In a day or so she looked out across the yard at a big pile of dirt, at the well. She asked me about it, and I grinned and walked away. Later that evening, I came in late; I had been for a walk. I had gone down to the springhouse and confronted the drifter (it was the same man). I let him know that I was aware of it all, even from the first and the baby. Then I struck him beside his head, knocking him down to his knees. Then I struck him again and he lay unconscious. I picked him up and carried him back to the house and I threw him into the dry well. It was dusky dark and I was sure Rose hadn't seen me. Then I walked back to the house. Rose met me at the door.

"You're late," she said. "I was beginning to worry."

She asked where I had been. I told her I had taken a long walk. She turned from me and turned back.

"Grady, I've been thinking, and I believe things will work out."

Then I asked her to come outside because I had something I wanted to show her. I grabbed a coal oil lantern and we left. As we approached the well, she started to become a little afraid. We stepped up to the well, and I held the lantern over into it. She looked in. The light gave only a glimmer of a view of the drifter, but she got the point. Then I grabbed her by the neck and started to choke her. She fought back with all her strength. She tried to scream, but I choked her even more. I suddenly let go as she gasped for air. Then I picked her up and threw her into the well to her grave with her lover. I took the tractor and caved the rock well in on them, pushing the pile of dirt in, filling the well up burying them alive. Then I went in and grabbed my pipe and sat out on the porch and enjoyed my smoke.

Dawn came early the next day. I took the tractor and smoothed out the ground on top of the well, and sowed grass and strawed it; beside it was the baby's grave. I planted some wild flowers on it.

As the months went by, no one ever did come around much on the farm. But when I was in town, some would ask about my old lady, and I would just smile and reply that she took off with some drifter, a salesman I believed. That was about all they would say. I never remarried, and in my latter days the hardness of my heart brought me to my end.

The old farm lay vacant for a few years until one day a young man and his wife bought it. Things were good for them the first three years. But it wasn't long until she began to take long walks and she, too, turned her back on him. Late in the evening about dusky dark, the young man would sit out on the porch with a glass of iced tea, listening to crickets and frogs. As the darkness of night slowly moved in, he rose to his feet, stretched a bit, and then went in. But sometimes in the night, in the early morning hours, he would suddenly be awakened by the cry of a child, a woman, and the cry of an unknown, a drifter you might say.

*****

Discover other titles by Bobby A. Troutt at Smashwords.com:

Beyond the Truth

A Cry in the Wind

To read other works by Bobby A. Troutt, visit bobbysbooks.8m.com
