Noah stopped by the office to apprise Sheriff Cole of the dead bodies, the sheets, and Harrison’s whereabouts.
“Shot up any more law-abiding business establishments in the last five minutes?” Cole smirked while sitting behind his desk.
“You heard about that already?”
“It’s a small town.”
“I’m better with a rifle, sheriff. It’s all I used in the War. I’ll practice my quick-draw,” Noah said.
“I would hope so. Just don’t do it when I’m around.”
“Look, that’s the first time I really ever had to be fast with a Colt like that. I’m good up close. I mean, like, standing a few feet away.”
“Just be thankful the guy you shot was drunk, otherwise we might be covering you with sheets. Why don’t you head on back to tend to those bodies? I already sent two widows that way to pick up what’s left of their husbands. The Army’s retrieved their two boys and is boxing them up to send to north.”
Noah left Cole and unhitched Wilbur to ride back to the undertaker’s. Noah mounted the horse and was met by Toby Jenkins standing in front of Wilbur’s nose.
“Is it true what they say? Two northerners killed with those Klansmen?” Toby spoke in a resigned monotone and looked off to Wilbur’s side, not making eye contact with anyone, just staring at a dreaded truth and waiting for its audible confirmation.
“Afraid so,” Noah said. “You know anything about what happened out there last night?”
Toby closed his eyes and shook his head no.
“Why? You think I do? I’m just saying those boys didn’t deserve what they got, Deputy,” Toby said. “They were just trying to stop them Klansmen.”
“And how would you know that?”
Toby shrugged his shoulders. “Why else would they have been there if not to patrol the roads?”
“Maybe they heard the Klansmen getting attacked and tried to save them. I mean, what you say makes sense—you just seem, well, distraught over this, for someone who’s not directly impacted by it. Unless you were friends somehow with those Klansmen, which I highly doubt. Or, maybe you knew those soldiers. Did you?”
“I don’t know any of the soldiers around here. I’m just glad they’re there. It shouldn’t have happened like that.”
Noah tugged the reins to maneuver Wilbur around Toby.
“How should it have happened, Toby?”
“The soldiers should’ve stopped the Klan from doing what they had planned—taken them into custody, of course.”
“Are you upset that the Klan’s members are down by seven, possibly eight?”
“Do what?”
“It ain’t a secret that Doc Richardson’s mending up one of those bigots as we speak. The whole town saw Deputy Harrison unload him a couple of hours ago.”
“They ain’t all dead?” Toby’s eyes widened. He took on the face of someone who’d been punched in the diaphragm.
“Toby, you’re worrying me. There something you want to tell me?”
“Too many people are dying around here. I’m afraid more will if the freedmen take action against whoever’s holed up in the doc’s office.”
“We’ve thought about that. If you know of anyone planning to take action, I’d tell them to stay back—if you’re really concerned about anyone else dying.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Toby turned to head back to, well, Noah didn’t know where, or what business Toby had in town.
It ain’t for me to know, Noah reasoned. But I ain’t a goddamn fool. Nobody voices that type of concern unless they’re somehow vested in it.
He’d update the sheriff later.
The mix of midday heat and butchery made a mockery of anything that smelled decent on the undertaker’s property. Noah galloped to Young’s office to make right what would never be.
“Four left,” Young said after Noah dismounted. By now Young wore black pants with a white shirt covered by a sleeveless black vest, and a black wide-rimmed preacher’s hat for no other reason than it helped keep out the sun. People needed to know what their undertaker looked like—that meant black attire no matter what the temperature.
“Each of the widows—well, two widows and one sister—insisted on leaving with every limb that they believed belonged to the body they were taking,” Young said. “We literally almost had a tug of war over a left arm, but a birthmark on the forearm helped identify whose it was.”
“You able to cover what’s left of them?”
“One set of sheets, a tarp, and a burlap sack that I cut up to hide the bodies. At least what you’re carrying’ll make things look a bit more uniform.”
“That’s the aim.” Noah followed Young to the four remaining bodies. Waylon Deacons, the soldier with the prosthetic leg, stood guard over them by slouching against oak tree that shaded the remains.
“Where’d the other guy go, and the wagon?” Noah said.
“Took it back to base to wash it out,” Deacons said. “I just assume burn the damn thing. It was getting pretty foul.”
“I’m pleased people are at least claiming these guys.” Noah flipped away the makeshift burlap blankets and delicately shrouded a corpse with a long fresh sheet. Deacons pushed himself off the tree, grabbed a folded square of linen where Noah had placed them on the ground, and did likewise to the body covered in a black cloth tarp.
Young joined them and soon the yard took on the appearance of a crime scene and not a slapstick outdoor morgue.