Mankillers

“What happened? How was Clay killed? When?”

“A few months ago, right at the end of the war, up in Virginia. A sniper got him.”

Rex bowed his head.

“Actually, I believe you’re acquainted with the man who killed him.”

Rex looked up, startled and gaped at Buck. “What? I? How could I? Who—”

“Rufus Snead.” Buck watched as the other man rocked in his chair, then heaved himself to his feet.

“That sorry bastard?” He took an unsteady step to one side, reversed course and paced back. “He and his whole damn family are a scourge,” he grumbled in a low intense voice. “Rufus killed Clay? That son of a bitch. I heard talk he was going after your brother. Swore to kill him. I never believed he had the guts to follow through though.” He dropped heavily into his seat again, placed his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands. “Sniper, huh? Should have known he’d take a coward’s way, shoot him from afar. An honorable man would’ve faced him. So that worthless piece of scum got his revenge after all.”

“Revenge for what?” Buck had already figured it out, but he wanted independent confirmation. “What reason did Rufus Snead have for killing my brother?”

Rex frowned, as if he were weighing options, then spoke in a confidential whisper. “He hated Clay, Buck. No question about that. He hated your brother. Clay never let Rufus forget he was the overseer’s son, from the time they were boys.”

“But that was years ago, when they were children. Did something transpire between them as adults that drove Rufus to murder?” Buck leaned forward and crossed his arms. “Before he was killed, Clay said he wanted to tell me about a family matter, but he never got a chance. Did it have anything to do with the Sneads?”

Rex sighed. “I reckon everybody in lower Richland County’s familiar with the story.”

“I didn’t keep in contact with people around here after I left for medical school. Then the war broke out. When Clay showed up a couple of weeks ago I hadn’t laid eyes on him in four years or more.”

“A lot happened after you left. You remember Saul Snead’s daughter, Sally Mae? She would’ve been eight or ten years old when you were still living here. The only one in the family who had any looks. Her old lady was ugly enough to freeze up a cotton gin, and her old man . . .”

“Emma says the girl died in childbirth, claims she doesn’t know who the father was.”

Rex stroked his chin pensively. “She knows, Buck, but I reckon she doesn’t feel it’s her place to say.”

“It was Clay, wasn’t it?”

Rex shrugged. “Had to have been him. He was her first and I suspect her only. Hell, I thought I might get . . .” He averted his eyes, embarrassed at the impulsive admission. “She wasn’t like the rest of the Sneads, Buck. Not like her momma, if you following my meaning. I believe she was truly in love with Clay. Kept her knees close together and refused to let any other man touch her. That really riled her daddy, not because she let Clay have her, but because she did it for free. He figured she was go

“You never bothered to check up on your best friend’s son?”

A muscle in Rex’s jaw twitched. “Don’t lay that responsibility on me, Dr. Thomson,” he shot back angrily. “It’s your family, not mine. Raleigh knew Emma had his grandson in her cabin, and he seemed content to let him stay there, while he passed his time up at the big house. Commenced drinking like never before. Far as I know, he never said a word to anyone about the baby. Folks around here didn’t talk about it either, at least not where they could be overheard. I certainly didn’t see any reason why I should get involved.”

Buck nodded. “You’re right. I was away at medical school when all this was going on, so I appreciate your enlightening me. I understand now what Clay was referring to.” He braced the wooden arms of the upholstered chair, started to rise, then settled into it again. “What a mess. My father and brother dead. Jasmine in ruins. And now a child that no one seems to want, except an old black woman, who more than anyone else has the right to wash her hands of him. The world’s gone crazy.”

“If I can help in any way, Buck, tell me. Clay was like a brother to me—” he paused, ill-at-ease with the comparison “—my best friend.”

They heard loud, laughing voices out in the lobby. Apparently the bank president’s guest was leaving.

“Thank you, Rex. It’s good seeing you again.” Buck stood. “Forgive me for not asking sooner, but how’s the rest of your family? Still at Foxgrove?”

Rex spread his hands on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. “Father managed to sell the plantation a few years ago. He and Momma and my sister moved to Greenville. He’s a judge there now. Or was. With the war ended and the Yankees in charge, who knows?”

“I wish them well.”

Buck opened the door before his crippled friend reached it and stepped out into the lobby in time to see a large, well-dressed plutocrat, wielding a glossy black walking stick, step out into the street. Grayson turned and greeted Buck with an outstretched hand.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “That was General Hampton, here to discuss . . . some interests of his.” He ushered Buck into his high-ceilinged office.

“Sell it,” Buck instructed, once the door was closed. “For whatever you can get for what’s left of Jasmine, sell it.”

“Are you sure, sir? It’s your patrimony.”

“Sell it,” Buck repeated. “There’s not much left but memories, and there aren’t too many of them I treasure. The house’s gone. The slaves have all run away. Of course, they’re not slaves any more, but . . .” He paced anxiously across the worn Oriental carpet between the desk and the cold stone fireplace. “There’s just one thing. Old Emma. Did you realize she’s raising Clay’s son out there by herself?”

“I heard rumors,” Grayson muttered. “I asked your father a year or more ago about the baby, but all he’d tell me was that it was Saul Snead’s grandson, and I should mind my own business. You mean the child’s still there at Jasmine? What in the name of Ulysses S. Grant is Emma doing with a baby at her age?”

“Taking excellent care of it from what I can tell. But, as you’ve noted, she’s getting on in years. If I sell the place, she’s go

Grayson shook his head. “Buck, I’d assumed the Sneads had taken the baby back to Lexington County. If I’d known they hadn’t, especially after I heard about your father’s death, I would’ve checked to see if he was all right.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility, Gus. You’ve had your own problems to deal with. Besides, you’ve already done so much for our family.”

“I wish . . .” Suddenly his face brightened, his hazel eyes twinkled. “Wait till I tell Miriam. She’ll know what to do.” He smote his forehead. “I can hear her now. We’ll have two more chickens in our coop.”

Buck couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s unfailing good humor in spite of all he’d endured. “I don’t feel right unloading this burden on you, Gus, but I’m consoled that old Emma and my nephew couldn’t be in better hands. Thank you, my friend. Now that I know they’ll be properly taken care of, I never want to set eyes on that accursed place again. Sell it,” he repeated once more, in case his earlier message hadn’t been clear enough.

“I’ll do as you wish, Buck, but I hope you’ll reconsider. I hate to think of Jasmine going to some stranger, maybe even a Yankee.”

“Damn the Yankees, and damn Jasmine, for all I care.”

Grayson regarded him for a long minute, then cleared his throat. “I wish things had worked out differently . . . for all of us.”