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At nine o’clock sharp, he appeared in the hotel’s dining room, well groomed and wearing clean clothes. Gus was drinking a cup of coffee. A waiter pulled out a chair for Buck even before he reached the table. He ordered coffee and a breakfast plate.
“You look like a new man,” Gus commented.
“Probably smell like one too.”
The banker gri
“You’ve already eaten?” Buck asked.
“Miriam frowns on non-kosher cooking.”
“You’re not Jewish.”
“Please don’t tell her that.”
Buck laughed. “You mean you’ve kept the bedroom lamps unlit all these years.”
Gus guffawed, almost spilling his coffee.
The next half hour was filled with a candid narrative of the lost years. The battles Buck had witnessed, the businesses large and small Grayson had watched collapse, and the families that had moved away. They were recounting pleasant memories of cotillions and barbecues, when a messenger arrived from Jeffcoat, a
Once comfortably seated there and cigars lighted, Grayson became somber. “I’m so sorry about your father’s death. I wish—”
Buck sat upright in the upholstered chair. “Father’s dead?”
Gus stared at him. “You didn’t know?”
“I—”
“I’m dreadfully sorry, son. I only heard about it a month or so ago myself. I still don’t have all the details, except that there was a fire at the house. You and Raleigh had your differences, but he was in many ways a fine man who loved both his sons.”
“Did Clay know about Father’s death?”
Gus froze. “Did?” he repeated. “You mean—”
“He was killed by a sniper a few days after Lee surrendered.”
The banker shook his head as his eyes misted. “Not him too.” He stared at the desk blotter and mumbled, “Lord, I loved that young man like one of my own. So full of life and joy, and God, what a horseman.” He raised his head. Tears stained his cheeks. “Now he’s gone too, like my precious boys.”
He rose to his feet and paced behind his desk, head bowed. “So many lives ended.” He wiped his eyes and then resumed. “In the event of his death, your father left letters with me to give to you and your brother upon your return. Now, with Clay gone . . . I reckon they both belong to you.”
He went to the shoulder-high black-iron safe in the far corner of the room, spun the dial and removed two dun-colored envelopes. He handed both to his guest. Buck stared at his father’s careless handwriting, frowned and placed the missives in his coat pocket.
“You know, Buck, this country may someday recover from this terrible conflict. We might even eventually bind our nation of states closer together to make us a stronger Union, but, my God, at what a price! All the dead. All the crippled young men, North and South. I tell you, generations will pass before many of these families recover. I’ve heard over a quarter of the young men in the Confederate States have been killed or disabled. Nothing—state rights, abolishing slavery—nothing’s worth the price we’ve paid.”
He picked up his Havana. It had gone out. He set it back in the ashtray and shook his head sadly.
“And Columbia. This beautiful city, ruined, ruined! It’ll be rebuilt, and our state’ll recover, but it’ll take many years. Unfortunately, you can’t force people or legislate them to love one another.”
He leaned back in the swivel chair, then sat upright. “Enough of this philosophizing.” He reached for the dead cigar, relit it with a wooden match, took a deep puff and blew the smoke over his head. “What’re your plans now, son? I hope you’ll open your doctor’s office here in Columbia. You’ll be most welcome . . . and successful.”
Buck too puffed before he replied, “I’m afraid I’ll have to delay that decision for now. There’s another matter I’m obliged to deal with first.”
Gus waited expectantly. When Buck didn’t elaborate, he shrugged. “As you wish. If you require ready cash, it’s available. Raleigh deposited funds here for your medical school, but since you chose not to use them, I’ve invested them for you, and now, with Clay gone. . . . As the sole surviving son, you also inherit Jasmine—or what’s left of it. Give me a day or two to get all the legal documents filed, but—” he stared grimly through the fragrant smoke “—you certainly won’t have to concern yourself with earning a living right away.”
“I have a good horse—” Buck studied the glowing tip of his cigar “—and adequate cash for now. About this matter I alluded to . . . I need your advice. Do you remember Saul Snead?”
“That sorry overseer your father hired? I tried to warn him, but after your momma passed on, all your poppa seemed interested in was turning a profit.”
“I’ve learned Saul’s son, Rufus, is the mankiller who shot Clay. He and his gang also murdered Sarah’s father and wounded her.”
“God in heaven!” Gus wagged his head. “That whole family’s depraved. But this! That wretch’s got to be stopped.”
“My immediate concern is for the safety of Sarah Drexel and her mother.” Buck rose to his feet and strode heavily across the worn carpet. Retracing his steps he positioned himself directly in front of the banker’s desk. “Then,” he declared firmly, “I’m going to find Rufus Snead and kill the murdering bastard.”
Grayson stared up at him, speechless for a moment. “Buck, I’ve never seen you like this. You, a doctor who never even went on a foxhunt, are now talking about taking another man’s life?”
Buck stared at him. “I’ve already killed six men and haven’t regretted a single one of them. Now I’m a mankiller.”
The banker fell back in his chair, clearly appalled at what he’d heard. He started to bring his cigar to his lips, but his hand trembled so badly he lowered it to the crystal ashtray.
“My God, Buck. My God.” He covered his face with his hands. “What’s this war done to us?”
“I need to find Rufus Snead,” Buck said with cold calm. “He’s around here somewhere.”
Pulling himself together, Grayson tapped the ash from his cigar and took a puff. “My friend, I want you to get Clay’s murderer as much as you do, but the Sneads are a treacherous lot with a host of evil friends. It’d be foolhardy for you to go after him by yourself.”
“I can’t ignore him now.” Buck frowned. “Not when I know he’s so close.”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting you let him get away. I have ah . . . an . . . acquaintance who can find a gnat in a sandstorm, and squash him if necessary.”
Buck shook his head. “No, sir, I want that red-haired coward for myself.”
“I understand that. What I’m proposing is you let my man Tracker locate him for you. He’s a master of disguise who can slip into dangerous places without raising suspicions.”
“You’ve never steered me wrong, Gus. But I don’t want this to drag out. There’s no telling how many lives are at stake. Do you think Tracker can get the job done promptly?”
“I believe he can. Fortunately he’s in the vicinity. I’ll send word to him right away.” Gus pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket and snapped it open. “Time for us to pick up the ladies and proceed to the synagogue.”
#
Buck, Sarah, her mother, and the Graysons arrived at the synagogue in silence. Rabbi Mendelssohn greeted them with appropriate solemnity and introduced several members of the congregation—many were friends of the Graysons—so that there would be the ten male Jews required for religious services. Buck was unfamiliar with the rituals that followed but was captivated by the rabbi’s resonant, sonorously mournful chanting.
From the house of worship, they proceeded across the street to the Hebrew cemetery. Here the rabbi led a prayer which was recited by all those present, even Gus. Buck listened and found the words deeply comforting.