Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (32 page)

“Oh, don’t worry about Stewart. He thinks Israel is just running errands for me, keeping me from having to go to town. He likes that. He’s so jealous he doesn’t want me in town, around lusty men like you.”

There was a long silence. They were kissing again.

Suddenly Travis cried, “Damn it, woman, you’re in my blood. I swore I’d never let a woman get a noose around my neck again, but you’ve got such a fire in you! I can’t get enough of you.”

“Maybe one day you will truly love me for something besides my body, Travis Coltrane,” Alaina whispered tremulously. “Maybe you’ll want to make me your wife so you can have me all the time and in every way. I want you inside me every night and day of my life. I want your seed within me to make a child grow—
our
child—and I will welcome each pain as I deliver him into your arms.”

Marilee felt sick. What was it about the man that provoked a woman so? She sounded like a common trollop. Never could Marilee say such things, not to any man, and to hear the words coming from her sister’s lips made her shudder.

Finally their voices drifted away, and she moved cautiously from behind the tree, making her way as fast as she dared to the springhouse, then beyond to where the horse was tied. Reaching inside the hollow tree, she found the white clothing.

She pulled the white robe over her head and positioned the hood, peering out through the slits.

As always, when she was dressed in the white flowing robe of the Ku Klux Klan, Marilee felt like a traitor. She hated masquerading in the costume of cowards.

Swinging up on the horse, she guided him slowly through the brush and onto a path that would lead them up the mountain.

As she rode, the cool night air upon her face, white robe flapping, Marilee reflected upon the discovery that had led her to these secret missions. It had been accidental.

She had been bored one afternoon, and, as always, when her mind was unoccupied, thoughts of Donald haunted her. To keep from brooding, she had wandered into the little room that had been her mother’s sewing nook, tucked comfortably beside her father’s study. She lovingly touched the old machine that had made her dresses and Alaina’s. Their mother had loved making clothes for her girls.

She wandered over to the old spinning wheel, the quilting racks, and she could almost hear her mother speaking to her once again, for they had spent long hours in the room, talking and laughing. Marilee stood before the huge wall mirror, blinking back tears as she remembered her mother down on her knees pinning in a hem.

Suddenly her eyes caught something she had never seen before. There were tiny little hinges on one side of the mirror which had been covered by ribbons. Yes, she was sure of that. Always, her mother had draped the ribbons she used in sewing down that side of the mirror. That was why Marilee had never noticed the hinges before that moment.

Curious, Marilee ran her fingers along the edge of the mirror opposite the hinges, then gasped as she touched a little hidden catch. When pressed, it caused the mirrored door to swing open.

She had laughed out loud. This was an entrance inside the wall that ran to her father’s study. Suddenly so many memories came flooding back, times when her father had declared he had much work to do in his study and should Marilee or Alaina disturb him, they could expect a sound thrashing. At the same time, Mother would disappear into her sewing room, saying that she, too, had much to do and did not want to be disturbed. These were probably times when the two wanted to be together in private, without the servants whispering over their making love at such odd hours.

Smiling to herself, Marilee had groped along inside the wall in the darkness, imagining how excited her mother must have felt to have a secret rendezvous with her own husband. It was so romantic, so sweet, and she felt closer to her mother for sharing her secret.

Running her fingers along the wall, she wondered where the entrance to Father’s study was located. Then, just as she felt a doorknob, she heard his angry voice.

“You shouldn’t have hanged the sonofabitch with his family watching, Mason! That was stupid. Beatings are one thing, but to kill a man with his wife and children watching, well, the good people of Kentucky will not tolerate things like that no matter how much they hate nigras.”

Marilee blinked. Killing? Beating? It was quite wrong to eavesdrop, but she stood there, unable to move.

“Look, boss, I can’t always control that bunch.”

Stewart Mason’s voice sounded apologetic but, at the same time, belligerent.

“You wanted me to do a job and I did. We went to that nigger’s house, Billy Kiser, to teach him a lesson, ’cause he’d been shooting his mouth off about how the niggers had to join up and fight back, that the law was on their side. He came out of his house with a gun and started blasting away. He shot two of us before we were able to wing him.

“Peter Haskins got shot in the arm, and Wendell Cathcart got hit in the leg,” he went on anxiously. “You think after that happened I could keep them from hanging that nigger? They wouldn’t have cared if God had tried to stop them. They strung him up and hung him. It was all I could do to keep them from hanging his wife and kids, too. The only way I stopped them was to keep yelling that we had to get Haskins and Cathcart to a doctor. They did try to burn the house down, threw all our torches up on the roof of that rotten old shack, but the niggers put it out as soon as we left.”

His voice rose. “There sure wasn’t nothing they could do for Billy Kiser, though. His neck popped like a walnut when we kicked that horse out from under him. He was dead quick.”

She had not remembered making her way through the wall that night and back into the sewing room. It had been too horrible a shock, the realization that her father was involved in the Ku Klux Klan…no, he was
behind
the Klan, giving orders to Stewart Mason.

For long hours she sat in her mother’s sewing room, unable to move, her mind whirling. No matter what, she could not turn her father over to the law. But oh, Lord! the guilt she felt every time a Negro was killed.

In every other way, he was wonderful. Her mother had adored him and he had been a kind, loving father. True, he favored Alaina, who knew how to wrap him around her little finger, but Marilee had never really felt less loved.

No, she could not turn him in. There had to be another way. She had decided to disguise herself as a Klan member, infiltrate their meetings, and do what was possible. After all, even if she did turn her father in, that wouldn’t stop Klan activities.

The Negroes knew she was involved. Without their help, her efforts could never have been so successful. They made sure her horse was waiting where she needed it, and when she returned from a night ride, someone was there to meet her. If she had news of an attack, then the person who met her went out to warn the intended victim.

She prayed that Donald would understand that she couldn’t turn her father in.

Suddenly, ahead, a ghostlike figure floated from the forest to stand in the middle of the road. Flames from its torch cast a red glow over the road. Marilee cursed. A sentry was always posted, and she should have remembered and been prepared. Damn it, a few more mistakes and they would become suspicious.

“Halt, brother,” the figure in white commanded. “Give the sign.”

She jerked the reins. Then she crossed her forearms across her bosom, clenched her fists, gently pounding herself three times.

“Advance!” The sentry stepped aside.

Riding onward, she recalled the terrifying night when she had hidden in the bushes and watched as the sentry commanded each Klansman to give the signal. It was only one of many nights that she had hidden and watched, wanting to be sure of every procedure before going to a meeting. So far, she had been successful. They never removed their hoods and no one ever questioned her.

The red and yellow glow of torches beneath the shroud of trees and against the black drape of sky made an eerie scene. Marilee dismounted, tying her horse with the others, and made her way to where the crowd of white-robed figures was gathered.

It was, she knew, an excellent meeting place. One would have to know the exact location. This was not a site likely to be stumbled upon.
She
had not found it easily. In fact, it had taken three different attempts, after hiding in the wall outside her father’s study and listening to Stewart tell of meetings, before she actually found it.

Dear sweet Lord, where was this all going to end? Would these nightmare meetings, the cruelties, ever end? Would she one day be able to live a quiet life?

She guessed attendance at around fifty people. The most ever had been close to eighty. But if a public roll of those who supported the Klan were taken, perhaps two out of three whites would say they did.

Even though he wore a robe and hood, Marilee had no doubt that the tall figure standing on the large rock was Stewart Mason. He faced the crowd and began to speak.

“Let the light of justice be ignited!” he commanded.

Someone stepped forward with a torch. In an instant, a large cross about ten feet tall was engulfed in flames. It lit up the sky with a flash. Marilee bit down on her lip, determined not to shudder. She had heard the Negroes talk about the horror of awaking in the middle of the night to the sound of thundering hoofbeats, staring out their windows to see a burning cross in front of their homes. She could imagine their terror.

The crowd cheered when the cross was ignited, and Stewart waved his arms until they fell silent. “Tonight we’re going to talk about a nigger named Tom Stanley,” he cried. “He tried to sign up to vote the other day.”

“No!” The crowd hollered in unison, some of them striking at the air above them with their fists. “No! No! No!”

“Damn right, no!” Stewart yelled back, pacing the flat-topped rock that set him slightly above them. “We’re not going to have any niggers voting in this county. Give them the vote, and the next thing you know they’ll be holding office! We’ve got to keep them in their place, and if they don’t want that, we’ve got another place for them—in the goddamn ground!”

His voice rose to a thunderous yell and was matched by the crowd. He allowed them to cheer for several moments, then motioned again for silence.

“So what are we going to do to Tom Stanley?” cried Stewart, and the crowd called, “Hang the nigger! Kill him! Burn him out!”

Would there be time to warn Tom Stanley? She would have to return to the springhouse, tell whoever was waiting for her, and he would have to warn Tom.

She kept her head straight ahead, darting her glance around. Would anyone notice if she left? They were all fired up, waving their arms and yelling. Was there a chance she could slip away? It was chancey, but did she have a choice?

“Hear me out!” Stewart was yelling. “Listen to me!”

She took a few steps to her left, calculating that she could be in the woods and out of sight in the time it took for them to set up one more loud cheer.

“We need to discuss those new marshals,” Stewart was saying.

Marilee froze.

“So far,
all they’re doing is asking questions and nosing around. I don’t think there’s cause for worry. They seem about as stupid as the other four we ran out of town.”

The ghostly figures swayed with laughter. A figure on her left turned to Marilee, his head bobbing gleefully, and she returned the gesture as though sharing his mirth.

Stewart continued, “I want all of you to keep your eyes open. If they start getting in our way, we’ll just take them out and give them a beating. That should send them on their way. But we don’t want to rush anything. The law will only send in more to replace them, like they’ve done in the past. I keep hoping we’ll get lucky and get a couple in here that will just be content to sit back on their butts and do nothing except draw their pay.”

The white figures laughed again.

Someone cried, “Yeah, and maybe we’ll be extra lucky and get some in here that’ll want to join up!”

This brought a resounding wave of laughter, and Marilee swiftly backed closer to the woods.

“Who are these new marshals?” someone shouted from the far side of the throng. “I ain’t never seen ’em and don’t even know what they look like.”

That, Marilee realized gratefully, would occupy the crowd long enough for her to be on her way. With a pounding heart she moved quickly into the woods and groped her way toward the horses.

She had taken few steps toward the horses when a flowing white movement caught her eye among the stock. She crouched down in the brush, peering out anxiously. There was never a sentry among the horses. Why was anyone there? Was she under suspicion? Dread became a tight knot in her throat as she watched, waiting.

There was no further sign of anyone. Finally, she dared move from cover once more. But she did not stand up. Instead, crouching on hands and knees, wobbling along in ducklike movements, she scuttled toward her mare.
Don’t get excited and whinny and bring them running,
she prayed to the horses.
Just let me get out of here.

She found her horse, identifying the mare by the feel of the stirrups, which she had nicked in special places so as to be able to find her in darkness. Standing, she slipped an arm around her neck, whispering softly, “Easy, girl. Easy. Don’t get excited.”