“But this—” she began, and stopped.
“Yes, you and I both know who is buried here. Dig, Mallory, and fast! I would do it myself but I can’t risk your running off before I get that money.”
She picked up the shovel, pulled her skirts away from her feet, and stepped on the blade. It slid easily into the soft dirt.
I must distract him, get him talking so he won’t notice how slow I am…
He stood across from her, large and red-faced, his head turning now and again to look around him. His spectacles half hid his eyes but they were small, like Henry’s, and they watched her avidly.
“Yes,” Mallory said, continuing to shovel out small piles of dirt. “I know who is buried here. You must have seen me shoot him. You watched through the window. You must have found the money on his horse, and so you killed him and took the money.”
Boyce said nothing. His free hand went to a pocket and he withdrew a kerchief and wiped his heavily perspiring face. His other hand held a viciously long and narrow blade.
“And then you watched us bury him. After we were gone you must have come out here and buried the money in this grave.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. I didn’t know what to do with it just then. I had to have time to think. After I killed Fowler, things were different. But he needed killing. Even you could see that.”
Mallory paused for a moment. “What do you mean, ‘things were different’?”
“Keep digging! I’ll tell you—I want to explain things to you, Mallory. I want you to understand. Don’t you see that I had to protect myself? If Tipper just hadn’t seen me everything would have been fine!”
Mallory scooped out more dirt. “Do you mean Tipper saw you kill the soldier?”
Boyce shook his head. “No. Let me start at the beginning. I really want you to understand, Mallory, before I… Just listen and keep digging. Hurry!”
She took a moment to push back her hair and stepped on the shovel again. The air was cold and damp, but she, too, was beginning to sweat.
“Fowler was with the Union—you knew that. I already knew him from the bank. Henrietta knew him too but she would never have admitted it.
“I think she suspects me, but she’d never admit that either, unless it was to save Henry. She would do anything to save Henry, even accuse me.”
He stared beyond her for a moment and she still couldn’t see his eyes clearly, but his voice was harsh. “It’s always been that way, since the boy was born. You don’t know her, Mallory. She gets hysterical. The few times I saw her during the war she was always frantic, worrying about Henry. She calmed down when it was over and he came out of it all right. Except for his leg…
“Anyway, we captured some Yanks at Vicksburg before the siege and Fowler was one of ’em. During the siege there wasn’t a lot to do except dodge shells and sit around and starve.
“We got off to ourselves, started talking. Fowler had heard about some Yankee spy that was going to pose as a businessman and buy some cotton hidden in a warehouse in Natchez. This spy wasn’t really interested in the cotton—it was just a cover for something else he was trying to find out. I never knew the details—didn’t care.
“Fowler knew all about it, he’d overheard it somewhere. He told me he could get to the man before he bought the cotton. The spy would have fifty thousand dollars on him. Fowler said if I helped him escape he’d steal that money and share it with me.”
Mallory was still digging. She felt the shovel touch something but she moved it to another spot. Boyce seemed not to notice. He wiped his face again, then took off his spectacles and wiped them.
“I guess I knew deep down he was going to kill the man. How else would he get the money? And then again I wasn’t even sure he was telling me the truth. He could have made the whole thing up. Anyway, one day when I was on guard duty I let him and a few others get away.
“But I told him he’d better not double-cross me, that I’d hunt him down and kill him—and I meant it. I was tired of fighting, tired of never having enough to eat and being sick all the time.”
She was breathing hard. “I thought you were a hero, Boyce. We all did.”
“Heroes are nothing but fools! After the siege I never fought again. I stuck with my unit but I hid out during the fighting. Never got caught. We all knew the war was lost, and yet the fools wouldn’t give up!
“I don’t know for sure what Fowler did. All I know is that he got the money and deserted, because he showed up when I was at the boardinghouse in Natchez just before Henrietta and I came here. He was disguised, of course. And he was scared.
“He didn’t know how to get away carrying all that money. He’d hidden it somewhere, just waiting for the war to be over. There were pickets—soldiers—everywhere. He needed my help. We made plans. I would get us passes to leave the state—I’d say he was my business associate.
“He knew how to falsify papers. He could create a false name for himself but he couldn’t get the passes. That was up to me. Neither Henrietta nor Henry knew I’d taken the oath.”
“Where were you going to go?”
He frowned and gave a small shake of his head. “West. California maybe. I’ve had enough of this place! The South is dead, Mallory. Things will never be the same. I knew my wife and son would be all right. Henry can take care of his mother. I’ve had enough of them, too, if the truth be told.
“We planned for Fowler to meet me on a certain day here on this property, out in the woods, with the money. Logan had already told Henrietta and me we could live here. We just hadn’t made the move yet. I felt like this would be a safe place for Fowler and me to meet, get our papers in order, and leave. But then Fowler got distracted.”
“By Tipper, you mean,” Mallory said, leaning against the shovel.
Boyce nodded disgustedly. “He wasn’t even supposed to be this close to the house—he was a stupid man! But he saw Tipper. Guess he thought she’d never tell anyone what happened to her, and I’d already told him Logan was to be away that day, so he knew no other men were on the place. Except for Deke I reckon, but Fowler would have killed him if he got in his way.
“I came along and heard the gunshot, looked around and found his horse outside. I listened at the window and heard enough to know what was going on. I waited around until Deke left and killed Fowler…smothered him. Boy, did he put up a fight!”
“Like you tried to smother me?”
She felt him staring at her with his small eyes. “Just listen and keep digging—you should be close to those saddlebags! I took the money off the horse—had to get rid of the horse so I led him out to the swamp and shot him. Alligators got him. That night I buried the money.
“I had to think about what to do. I wasn’t scared like Fowler. I’m just cautious. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to wait a while, until enough time had gone by where nobody would be looking for either Fowler or that money. I figured the Yanks would soon be leaving Natchez. Turned out I was wrong.”
He was nearing the end of his tale and no one had come looking for her.
She tried to steady her voice. “Why did you kill Tipper?”
He sighed heavily. “When the officers came and said they were looking for Fowler and the money, I knew I had to get out. They were likely to find the money and I wasn’t willing to give that up, Mallory. It’s a fortune, and it meant I could get out of this place and start another life. I came out here to get it. I was able to get by the men in the house—you learn things in a war.
“I’d just started digging for the money. Tipper had come to her cabin. She was probably going to meet somebody there. Probably Logan. Did you know about Tipper and Logan? Anyway, it was pretty dark but she saw me.
“I tried to talk to her but I could tell she realized what I was doing. She may have even seen me out here that night y’all buried Fowler…I don’t know.
“She ran away from me and started screaming. I grabbed her—I had to kill her. I’d brought a big knife from the kitchen out here to dig with—didn’t know if I’d be able to find anything else as dark as it was and I couldn’t risk a light. Then Deke—he must have seen me kill Tipper. I heard him say so.”
“And you thought that Deke had told me, so you decided to kill me too.”
“I didn’t want to,” Boyce said, again wiping sweat from his face and his balding head. “I just wanted to scare you. Like with the Bowie knife. That was Henry’s—I found it in his room. He must have known it was missing but he didn’t say anything.
“And yes, I saw when Brooke left your room and I snuck in and tried to scare you so you wouldn’t say anything. Stuart nearly caught me but I’m quick. He was running so fast he didn’t look down the hall and see my door close.”
He gave her a disapproving look. “I didn’t think you’d holler like that. Later, I went to your room again and saw that coat on the floor and thought about how I could use it. I couldn’t seem to keep away from you—I knew I ought to kill you, but Medora was there. I took some unnecessary chances I reckon.”
His brow furrowed and he said again, “I couldn’t keep away from you.”
“You used the coat to implicate Stuart. But why did you shoot Logan?”
“I wasn’t sure how much Tipper might have told Logan—if she had seen me the night I buried the money or how much she’d guessed—and Logan was outside when I killed Tipper. He could have seen or heard something. I couldn’t take that chance. I’m not going to hang!”
Near panic, Mallory could barely squeak out the words. “Did you…did you kill Mr. Huger?”
He gave another dry and mirthless chuckle. “I didn’t know what to do about Huger at first. I could have killed him. I thought and thought as I sat with him in the dining room and used the officer’s paper to draw him a map of how to find the doctor in Natchez.
“I was alone with him then—I guess Munford was all distracted with Henry getting away. But I decided to let Huger go. He can’t possibly get back here with the doctor before I’m long gone. The map I drew for him will see to that!
“And besides, somebody might have been watching from the house to make sure he left. I pretended to find Stuart’s coat as an excuse to talk to you and see where everybody was and then I came out and took care of Bell. He’s unconscious and tied up in the barn.
“Like I said, you learn how to do these things in a war, and if you give me any trouble, Mallory, I’ll go in there and kill him. Now hand over those saddlebags!”
Mallory stopped digging. The leather saddlebags were poking out of the dirt. She ran her hand across her forehead, leaving a dark, wet streak.
Her other hand tightened on the shovel. “You are going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Mallory. I like you. But it’s you or me. That nag in the barn isn’t much of a horse but it’s a horse and I can get away.”
He seemed to be trying to collect his thoughts. “I have my pass. I can get on the ferry and cross the river to Vidalia before anyone here figures out what’s happened.”
“But what about Henry? Why did Henry run if he’s not guilty?”
“If I know Henry, he was worried about getting the blame for shooting Logan. But who knows? Maybe he suspects me and didn’t want to be around anymore.”
Mallory took a step backward. He moved instantly toward her.
“You can’t run away from me in that long dress! I’ll make it quick. God knows, I don’t want to do it!”
Mallory saw movement behind Boyce. In the distance were two horses heading for the stable, Henry in front on Sergeant Munford’s horse and Stuart immediately behind him. They hadn’t looked in her direction.
She screamed at the top of her lungs. Just as Tipper did, she thought frantically and screamed again.
Boyce surged toward her and she swung the shovel, barely missing him. She saw in a wild, flashing glance that Stuart had stopped his horse and was wheeling it around toward her, followed by Henry.
Boyce heard them and jerked his head to look. He moved swiftly forward. She swung the shovel again and he caught it, twisting until she was forced to let go.
She poised herself to run but he grabbed the front of her dress, ripping it and preventing her escape. One arm went around her waist as he turned toward the oncoming horsemen. She felt the blade of the bayonet against her throat.
“Stop or I’ll kill her!” Boyce yelled, having lost his spectacles and his face the color of blood.
Both men halted their horses. Stuart was pointing his revolver at Boyce.
“Drop that gun, Wakefield! Both of you get off your horses. I’m taking her with me.”
With only a slight hesitation Stuart tossed the pistol to the ground and dismounted. Henry slid from his horse with no expression on his face or in his small, puffy eyes.
“Now, Mallory, pick up those saddlebags and we’re going to walk over to Wakefield’s horse.”
Boyce continued to hold the blade against her throat as she bent carefully and tried to lift the saddlebags. They were too heavy.
“I can’t,” she said, gasping, off-balance and half falling against Boyce. He tightened the clamp on her waist.
“I’m not taking my eyes off of you, Wakefield. Get these saddlebags and put ’em on your horse. Henry, pick up that pistol and hand it to me.”
Neither Stuart nor Henry moved.
“What have you done, Pa?” Henry asked, and now there was a deep line across his forehead and his voice shook.
Boyce was sweating profusely. Mallory could feel the desperation in him as if it were a physical, tangible thing coursing through his body and into the arm gripping her. His hot breath, so close to her ear, was quick and ragged.
She tried not to look at Stuart. She didn’t want to be looking at him the moment her life ended…abruptly and horribly.
“I’ve done what I had to do. Mallory knows. She understands, don’t you, Mallory? I’m taking the money and getting out of here. Tipper and Deke got in the way. And I wasn’t sure about Logan, but that old pistol I had hidden in my room wasn’t any too precise. Lucky for him, I guess. I’ll let Mallory go once I’m across the river.”
“You can’t get away, O’Connor,” Stuart said quietly, “and Mallory will slow you down. If you let her go now the court will take that into account.”
Boyce blinked sweat out of his small eyes. His arm tightened around Mallory, and the strange composure with which he’d spoken to her earlier was fast turning into frenzy.
“Shut up! How many times do I have to say it? I’ll do whatever I have to do to get out of here! Now pick up those saddlebags if you don’t want this bayonet sticking out the other side of Mallory’s neck! Son, hand me that pistol!”
Henry leaned over to grasp the pistol and stood up.
“You won’t kill Mallory.” Stuart’s voice remained calm and deliberate. “If you do what is to stop me from killing you?”
“Oh, I’ll just nick her at first. You wouldn’t like that, would—”
A shot rang out. Boyce plummeted backward, pulling Mallory with him. She struggled to free herself as Stuart rushed toward her. She had a bewildering glimpse of Boyce’s bleeding head and Henry standing frozen with the gun in his hand.
He flung it to the ground as though it were a snake.
“I knew it was him! I didn’t want to be around when he got caught. Wakefield caught up with me, made me come back. I guess he thought I was the killer. But I knew Pa had taken my knife. Nobody else knew where to find it.”
Stuart had Mallory in his arms and they were both looking at Henry.
“I couldn’t let him kill you, Mallory. Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Stuart answered. “He’s dead.”
Henry’s head drooped forward. “I think…he wanted me to shoot him.”
His voice broke and he started walking toward the house. “Guess that’s better than hanging.”
They found Captain Bell in the stable. Stuart had, hours earlier, slid the Bowie knife through his gun belt and now he easily cut through the rope binding the captain’s hands behind his back.
Like the sergeant he had an ugly bump on his head, but he mounted the sergeant’s horse where Henry had left it, and rode slowly to the house.
Stuart put Mallory on his horse and climbed up behind her. They rode just as slowly. With tears sliding down her cheeks she told him everything she could remember of what Boyce had told her.
When they reached the house Sergeant Munford had recovered enough to unlock the front door and was sitting on the floor. Captain Bell called for everyone to come downstairs, his hand on his head and his grand moustache drooping over a bloodied lip.
Henry must have gone to his mother’s room to tell her what had happened, for neither of them appeared. Brooke, Medora, and Corinne gathered at the top of the stairs, their expressions ranging from disbelief to dismay.
Mallory leaned heavily against Stuart. Her gown was covered with dirt, torn in several places and showing half of her chemise. A muddy combination of dirt and sweat streaked her face and hands.
“Mallory Holt!” Brooke exclaimed. “What in the world have you been doing this time?”
How many times had she changed dresses since last night? Mallory had lost count. Medora helped her wash, with surprising aplomb, then brushed Mallory’s chestnut hair until it shone and pinned it up at the back of her head. Mallory went to the armoire to find something to wear. There were only the ballgowns left, stuffed into the corner.
Mallory pulled out the white one with the scarlet sash. The Liebestraum gown.
It was too long without the fullness of innumerable starched petticoats. She and her aunt pinned it up at the waist before tying the sash around it. Medora helped her into it, put her hands on Mallory’s shoulders, looked at her for a moment, and kissed her cheek.
“Come, Ladybird,” she said austerely, and the dog came out from under the bed, wagging her tail. Medora swooped her up and left the room.
Mallory sat down on her bed. Sometime soon she would stretch out upon it and sleep for a long, long time. But first there was something she had to do. What was it?
Her gaze went to her writing desk and the journal that lay on top of it. She’d been about to write something…
She slid off the bed and suddenly, without knowing she was going to, knelt between the two small steps leading up to the high bedstead. With bowed head she thanked God for sending Stuart and Henry in time to save her life. It had been quite a while since she had thanked God.
Rising, she moved to the desk and slipped into the chair. She pulled the journal toward her and turned to the last page where she’d written, On this night…
What did one say? That it had been a night of revelations, a night of mischief, of tragedy? Revelations, yes—about herself, about human nature, about greed and selfishness and the impulse to murder. Someday she would sort it all out.
Today there would be two coffins to build—or buy, if Stuart would provide the money. Tomorrow there would be two funerals. She felt a surge of sorrow for Tipper and Deke and for their families. Someone would have to send word to them. She didn’t know what would be done with Boyce.
On this night… Her hand moved to pick up the pen. She dipped it in the ink, paused, and wrote… I met the man I’m going to marry.
She held the long skirts high as she walked carefully down the winding stairs. She passed the parlor where Corinne and Brooke were tending to the injuries of the two soldiers. Corinne was cleaning around a gash on the captain’s head and Brooke was actually batting her eyes at the sergeant.
Mallory smiled. She saw movement through the window and walked to the door, opened it, and went onto the porch.
Stuart stood there, his back to her, his hand braced against one of the massive columns. Following his gaze she saw the rounded tip of the sun in the east, flanked by a swirl of clouds streaking across a light blue horizon that was tinged magnificently with orange and pink and purple.
Far down the long avenue of oaks three men on horses were just turning in from the road: Mr. Huger, the doctor, the sheriff.
Stuart turned. His gaze went over her, from her upswept hair to the hem of her white gown. His eyes lit and without hesitation he stretched out his hand. Her own moved toward his and he clasped it tightly.
Autumn’s promise hovered in the air. Over the quiet lawns the tops of the ancient trees were touched with gold, and the gray Spanish moss turned to silver.
Morning came and chased away the night.