Mankillers

Ten minutes later, after a tearful farewell among the women, Gus shook the reins of the lead team and the caravan set off down the road, heading west.

As the day ended, the vicar served his guests a simple but wholesome supper. The three of them took turns checking on the patient whose pallet had been placed on the floor of the parlor in case he unconsciously made an effort to get up. They spoke of prosaic things, recounted a few bland recollections of days gone by and finally, exhausted by the day’s emotional events, turned in early. Buck wanted to kiss Sarah goodnight—and more—but circumstances mitigated against it.

#

Unfortunately things didn’t fall into place the way Randolph had pla

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

The following morning Buck and Sarah set out with Rex in the hearse. Since the vehicle was not designed for comfort, they were forced to move slowly over the poorly maintained roads. Sarah accepted the task of administering laudanum to Rex periodically to minimize his distress.

Before they headed west, however, Buck insisted on a short detour back to Jasmine. It would add a few minutes to their journey, but he wanted one last time to see the place of his birth and the simple grave where Emma had been laid to her eternal rest.

Nothing had changed, but for the mound that marked her final home.

“Stop,” he suddenly shouted when they came in sight of the slave shacks.

He climbed out of the funeral carriage and approached the chinaberry tree. Someone had carved a single word in its thick trunk.

EMMA

He touched the shape of the horseshoe in his pocket. So much had happened here. So many lives spent. And for what? He rested his head against the rough bark. Was it all wasted?

He returned to the hearse. Sarah gave him a soft smile that beckoned for him to tell her his thoughts but said she would respect his privacy if he chose to say nothing.

In fact, they rode in silence for several miles.

“I’ve decided not to sell Jasmine,” he a

She placed her hand on his. “I’m glad. It’s your patrimony too.”

“It is, and God help me for it.”

#

Randolph had resumed his surveillance of the Grayson house shortly after sunrise. It was possible his fornicating wife had returned to the city during the night, but it was unlikely. Traveling after dark was hazardous in good times and these certainly weren’t. The doc would want to protect his “little woman,” which meant they’d be holed up somewhere. He didn’t care to think about what they might be doing.

He continued to watch the Grayson place but nothing happened. No one left, no one arrived. He was bored, but no more bored than he’d been sitting in a Yankee prison yard all day. At least now he had a hip flask to wet his whistle. It didn’t contain the quality liquor of his father’s crystal decanters—this was Monongahela, which would rot the guts of an Iroquois Indian—but it was better than nothing.

By noon he was fed up and decided to take a new approach.

If his wife and this doctor were having an illicit relationship, they might not stay at his friend’s house.

He checked the hotels outside the burned center of the city and finally discovered Dr. Thomson was registered at the Sand Hills.

“I’m glad I finally found him,” he told the white desk clerk. “We were in the war together and lost track of each other in the last hectic days after the fighting stopped. Was his lady with him?”

The clerk hesitated, no doubt mindful of his employer’s instructions to be discreet about their guests and associates. Randolph produced a silver dollar and started slipping it across the marble counter.

“He registered by himself,” the clerk informed him, his eyes on the hard currency. “But he’s staying in the John C Calhoun suite, which is quite large.”

“He always was a man of tastes. Any idea when he’ll be returning?” He kept his finger on the silver piece.

“No, sir.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with him later.” He made a small circling motion with the coin. “Is that all you can tell me?”

“That’s all I know, sir.”

Randolph grunted, pocketed the money, turned and walked out.

#

Buck, Sarah and Rex arrived in Columbia shortly after noon. Rex had tolerated the trip well, with the aid of a few sips of laudanum administered at regular intervals by Sarah. They went directly to Ruth’s house a quarter mile from the Grayson residence. Ruth had plenty of room, a full staff of servants and eager willingness to nurse the crippled young man who had no immediate family in the city.

The funeral carriage drawing up outside her front door stirred a few of the neighbors’ lace curtains and no doubt occasioned shocked comments behind them, especially when a living man was carried into the house instead of a dead person being carted out.

Rex was settled in the back parlor downstairs. Sarah would stay upstairs in a room next to her mother’s. The two women pla

“You’re obviously in very competent hands, my friend,” Buck told Rex after checking his sutures one more time. “And since you are, I have no qualms about leaving you to go to my hotel and get cleaned up. You have enough laudanum to tide you over till I get back with a fresh supply.”

“I’m very grateful, Buck. If there’s ever anything I can do—”

“Rest and get well—” he patted his patient’s shoulder “—and be nice to your nurses.”

The hearse driver had left Gypsy and Scamp tied to a hitching post. He rode his gelding and led the stallion—whom he suspected wouldn’t be a stallion much longer—to the Sand Hills Hotel livery stable. On the way he stopped at an apothecary shop and purchased two flagons of laudanum and several rolls of bandages. He was anticipating a hot bath and shave, followed by a short nap before returning to Ruth’s house.

“Good afternoon, doctor,” the clerk at the desk said as he reached into one of the cubbyholes behind him for Buck’s room key. “Oh, you had a visitor a couple of hours ago, said he’d catch up with you later. Did he find you?”

“A visitor?” Perhaps Gus had stopped by. “Did he give his name?”

“No, sir. And I didn’t recognize him. Not one of the locals.”

“What did he look like?”

He pursed his lips. “About your size and build. Rather coarse and weathered looking, if I may say so, but spoke like a gentleman. Said you were friends from the war. Had a Charleston accent.”

“A Charleston accent, you say?” The only person he knew with anything resembling a Charleston accent was Asa, but he was several inches shorter than Buck and smaller in build. As much as Buck liked and admired the young man, no one would credit him with speaking like a gentleman. Then it hit him and a shiver ran down his spine. This could be but one person. “Did he say what he wanted to see me about?”