A Dream of Daring (21 page)

Chapter
16

The stunned group in the
courtyard watched Cooper being led back to jail.

Tom smoothed his hair and
wiped the dirt from his face and clothes, trying to temper his shocking
appearance. He and Rachel looked at each other in silent greeting. His eyes
held sorrow at her distress; hers seemed resentful, as if he were to blame.

Stepping off the
scaffold, the sheriff directed the crowd to leave but asked the coroner and
several others to stay. Those he wanted to remain—Tom, Nash, Markham, and the
Barnwell women—were the ones, aside from Cooper, who had knowledge of the
invention and its whereabouts and who were at the Crossroads on the day of the
murder.

The sheriff’s probing
eyes seemed to be searching for a person or clue among the people remaining
that would indicate what new direction he must take on the crime.

“Somebody killed Senator
Barnwell. If it wasn’t Mr. Cooper, then who?” He began the discussion by
stating the obvious. “Who left the knife at Manning Creek? And who wrote the
letter?”

The people in the group
glanced suspiciously at one another.

“It seems we have a
murderer with a sudden pang of conscience who wrote a note at the last minute
to prevent an innocent man from hanging for his crime,” the coroner added.

“So what do we know?” The
sheriff asked, throwing his questions out to the group, his eyes sweeping from
one person to another to enlist a response and study their reactions. “Let’s
take the knife. Where did it come from, and who took it?”

Tom was cooling off, and
his energy was returning. Now that the emergency had passed, he began pacing as
he began analyzing. “The knife I found at the creek definitely came from the
Crossroads.”

“How can you be sure?”
asked Duran.

“The monogram on that
knife was on all the silverware at Polly Barnwell’s funeral reception. I saw
carving knives on food platters that were going in and out of the kitchen that
day that were identical to the knife I found this morning,” Tom replied.

The sheriff turned to
Markham. “You live there. What do you say?”

“Miss Polly had a
collection of carvin’ knives just like the one he brung here,” Markham
affirmed.

“The murderer could be
someone who was intent on stealing the invention and who had Polly’s knife with
him as a precaution,” Tom added. “If he met resistance in his thievery, he
couldn’t shoot a gun, which would wake up the household, but he could use a
knife to thwart anyone interfering with his scheme. If the weapon were found
later, a knife from the plantation would throw suspicion on a person who was
there and had access to it. That would be convenient for a culprit who no one
thought was at the Crossroads when the crime was committed.”

“But them knives are
locked up at night,” said Markham.

“Maybe someone had access
to the knife earlier.” Tom stopped pacing, as if coming to a conclusion.
“Someone who was seen in the . . . 
kitchen
.”

The sheriff raised his
eyebrows and nodded subtly, as if he was coming to the same conclusion.

“After the reception,
someone was seen in the kitchen and indeed was thrown out of it by the senator.
That person could have stolen the knife, left the plantation with the other
guests, then returned with the weapon later to steal my invention.”

Tom and Sheriff Duran
both turned their heads to the same person: Nash. The others followed their
glance.

“Nonsense!” Nash scowled.
“These wild fantasies are insulting! If this little affair is over, I have
other things to do!”

Nash bowed his head to
the Barnwell women, taking leave of them, then walked indignantly toward his horse
at the back of the yard.

As he untied the horse
from its post and was about to mount, an object on his saddlebag caught Tom’s
attention. Shining in the late morning sun was a large ornament above the
buckle on the flap of the leather pouch. Typical of the extravagance of its
owner, the ornament was composed of gemstones and glittered like a large, showy
brooch. The gemstones were
aquamarine
and gave off a flashy blue
sparkle.

“Wait! Just wait a
minute!” cried Tom.

He rushed toward Nash and
examined the decorative bag that hung from the saddle. “Sheriff, this is the
same blue stone that I reported seeing on the night of the murder! I told you
about the stranger with a sack that I saw on my way to Markham’s cottage, and
the shiny blue object that looked like jewelry flashing in the moonlight. The
sack I saw was this saddlebag. And the shiny blue object I saw were these
gemstones. They caught the moonlight and sparkled with the same blue color.”

Rachel and her mother
looked at each other, mortified.

In a flash, the sheriff
was toe-to-toe with Nash. “What about it, Mr. Nottingham?”

“I don’t know what you’re
talking about. Gemstones aren’t uncommon on bags and other accessories used by
people with fine taste.” He turned to Tom, his voice low and hateful. “I don’t
know what you saw that night, but I was home sleeping, as my mother told the
sheriff.”

“Your mother said she saw
you when she went to bed and again at breakfast. That doesn’t include the
middle of the night,” said Duran.

“You lied to the sheriff,
and you lied at the trial, under oath,” Tom charged. “You were at the
Crossroads that night. It was
you
I saw. The shiny blue ornament was
that one on your bag.”

“Poppycock! That’s sheer
poppycock!” Nash laughed dismissively.

“You were just steps away
from the murder scene that night, with this bag,” Tom continued. “You were seen
in the kitchen arguing with Wiley Barnwell earlier. And you were one of only
three men who knew what my invention was, where it was, that it wasn’t yet
patented, and that it had the potential to make a fortune. The only other two
men who knew these facts were the senator, who’s dead, and Cooper, who’s
innocent.”

“How dare you!”

“Mr. Nottingham,” said
the coroner, moving close to the accused, joining the sheriff and Tom in
cornering him, “I think you’d better explain.”

“This humbug’s gone far
enough. I’ve nothing more to say.”

Nash reached for the
reins of his horse, but Tom grabbed them first.

“Mr. Nottingham, were you
at the Crossroads Plantation on the night of the crime?” Duran pressed.

“I never saw the senator.
I never saw the invention. I never harmed anyone or anything.”

“Were you
there
?
Was it the blue ornament on your saddlebag that Mr. Edmunton saw that night?”
Duran continued.

Nash removed the bag from
his horse. “There’s nothing suspicious in there. Look for yourself.” He offered
the bag to the sheriff. “There’s no blood, no fabric, nothing that would tie me
to the weapon or the crime.”

The sheriff and coroner
inspected the saddlebag, found nothing of interest, and gave it back to Nash.

“Were you at the
Crossroads that night?” Duran repeated.

“There’s nothing in my
bag, Sheriff.”

“There’s nothing in it
now,” interjected the coroner.

“You have no evidence to
accuse me of anything. I’m leaving.” Nash tried to grab the reins of his horse
from Tom.

“Not so fast.” The
sheriff dropped an arm like a dead bolt in front of Nash’s chest to stop him.
“Were you prowling around near the murder scene with that bag?”

“I didn’t harm anyone.”

“Were you
there
?”

“Sheriff, I can explain—”

“Answer the question.”

Nash was trembling. He
looked at Rachel and her mother with embarrassment. But then his eyes moved to
other objects of more pressing concern. He looked with dread at the jail, and
he looked with terror at the noose hanging from the scaffold.

“Answer right now or face
arrest!” Duran demanded.

Nash closed his eyes.

“Were you at the
Crossroads on the night of the crime?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

Chapter
17

Duran led Nash and the
others across the street to the courthouse to continue the meeting out of the
sun. The group gathered around a table in the trial room where Ted Cooper’s
guilty verdict had been issued, death sentence pronounced, and case closed. Now
that case would be reopened. The group looked like unhappy members of a
disgruntled family forced to interact at the dinner table.

“I did
not
commit
any crime!” insisted Nash.

“At the very least, you
committed perjury when you told us you spent the night at your house, and I can
charge you with that,” said the sheriff, his eyes scouring the suspect. “What
are you hiding?”

The hot day added
physical discomfort to the emotional stress of the occasion for the Barnwell
women. Rachel sat fanning herself, her red curls swaying with the motion. The
high collar of Charlotte’s mourning dress rubbed against her skin, forming red
marks under her chin. The little burns seemed as abrasive to Charlotte’s skin
as the events of the past three months had been to her nerves.

Dr. Clark sat next to the
women. Bret Markham sat opposite them, staring suspiciously at everyone. The
guards standing off to the side added body heat to the room.

Sheriff Duran, Nash, and
Tom circled the table, too nervous to sit.

“Sheriff, I assure you, I
had nothing to do with the senator’s death,” said Nash.

“Mr. Nottingham,” Duran
replied, “you were in the kitchen at the Crossroads on the afternoon before the
murder; that gives you access to the weapon. You knew about the invention,
and
you were seen arguing with Senator Barnwell; that gives you motive. And
contrary to your sworn testimony, you went back to the property during the
night; that gives you opportunity. If you have any explanation, now’s the time
to share it.”

Sweat formed a dark ring
around Nash’s white collar. His grand airs now gone, he nervously wiped his
face, sighed in resignation, and sank into a chair to begin his story.

“That night, after my
mother went to sleep, I quietly left my house and rode back to the Crossroads.”

“Now, why would you do
that?” asked the sheriff.

“I was miffed at the
audacity of a man who had left our town as a youngster, never kept in touch
with any of us, lived among our adversaries, and then came back to upset us.”
Nash brooded. “To understand why I went back to the Crossroads, you have to
understand what weighed on my mind. And to understand that, you have to know
something about the peculiarities of Tom Edmunton.”

Tom quietly took Nash’s
complaint.

“Tom’s thinking has been
twisted from living so long in the North. He doesn’t understand us and our
ways. To my vexation, he doesn’t care to know how his father managed our local
bank and showed more patience with his customers. Yes, Tom’s coldhearted way of
banking peeved me. But that wasn’t all.”

Nash pointed an accusing
finger at his banker.

“Anyone who’s ever been
to his plantation can see how unseemly he is. I tell you, his slaves take
outrageous liberties. One of them drinks Tom’s liquor and has the run of the
house as if
he
were the owner.” The thought made Nash’s voice shrill.
“And you should hear the way Tom talks to his servants, so polite-like. Well,
of
course
he can’t control them. When I was there a while ago, the house was
in disarray, the stable was in shambles, and there was no servant around to
show me in. But there’s something even worse.” He leaned across the table and
whispered to the others, as if revealing a shocking secret. “His slaves aren’t
allowed to call him
master
.”

Nash paused to allow his
audience to absorb his words.

“It’s a scandal, I tell
you!” He turned to Duran. “How do you suppose I felt when this outsider
reappeared in our town to steal my woman and meddle in our business with his
wild schemes?”

Rachel, flustered,
admonished Nash. “I trust you’ll mind your manners and not be discussing my
personal affairs.”

“He chose his machines
over you,” replied Nash. “He chose his Yankee life in Philadelphia over you. He
came back only through the sheer accident of his father’s death, not for you.”
Then he turned to the sheriff. “And the senator encouraged
his
courtship
of her over mine!” The thought evoked a visceral anger in Nash.

“Really, now! How very
rude of you to say all this!” said an embarrassed Charlotte.

“I regret that I’m forced
to explain myself here. But please know that I was thinking only of Rachel’s
good, Mrs. Barnwell. I was thinking that you could keep Rachel near you if she
would accept my fervid wish to be her humble servant. I so wanted the senator
to see that.” He bowed his head to Charlotte. “Why, I feared that with Tom more
interested in scientific oddities than in being a proper match for your
daughter, he could get homesick for the North and up and take Rachel away with
him. Would you want your grandchildren brought up as Yankees?” He pleaded.

“Sheriff, I think this
discussion has gone far enough!” said Charlotte.

Duran looked sympathetic
but firm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barnwell. I would like you and your daughter to be
close by, in case I need to question you. But if you’d rather wait
outside . . .”

The women looked at each
other, coming to a silent conclusion. Charlotte spoke for them, her voice sharp
with irritation. “We’ll stay, Sheriff. That way we’ll know what’s being said
about our family, so we can defend our good name, if it comes to that!”

The sheriff looked
puzzled by Charlotte’s need to defend her name. “You and your family are not on
trial, ma’am,” he assured her, then turned back to Nash. “You were telling us
your state of mind, Mr. Nottingham?”

“What could my state of
mind be, Sheriff, after Tom told us he had a new invention that would turn our
lives topsy-turvy? It looks like Cooper’s story about wanting to put a stop to
that contraption was true. I’m not surprised,” he said, his voice heavy with
resentment. “I had those very same thoughts too.”

“What do you mean?” asked
Duran.

“After Tom told us his
grand plan to transform our lives, I went home that night with his words
festering in my mind. While I was with him that afternoon, I pretended to be
amused. After all, he’s my banker, and I needed a little time on my loan. But I
was disturbed by a ruthlessness in him that, well, reminded me of the Yankees
in their sheer arrogance. Nowadays, no one can deny they’re hell-bent on
destroying us. Like those scoundrels, Tom spoke about a future that dismantled
everything we hold dear for a world of machines, factories, and slaves running
amuck. I tell you, Sheriff, he riled me good!”

Tom listened, his face
questioning but his voice remaining silent.

“Tom spoke
their
language, not ours. I wanted to push him back, to wipe him out, to get what was
mine
.”

“So what did you do?”
asked the sheriff.

“I rode to the Crossroads
that night and left my horse in the bushes. I walked out to a patch of soil in
the slaves’ garden that had been turned for planting. I brought my saddlebag
with me and bent down to gather some of the loose soil in it.”

“Whatever for?” asked the
sheriff.

The others sat quietly.
The coroner was absorbed in the tale, the Barnwell women looked wary, and
Markham’s eyes darted around the room suspiciously.

“That afternoon, Tom had
shown us where the fuel was kept on his confounded machine. There were two
tanks: for gasoline and kerosene. I was fixing to pour the soil into those
tanks so the engine wouldn’t work.” Nash smiled sardonically. “I figured that
when Tom tried to demonstrate the device at his big meeting in Philadelphia and
the darn thing wouldn’t move, he’d be the laughingstock of the place. I
reckoned his hopes would be shattered, and he’d come back a defeated man.”
Nash’s face livened at the prospect. “Then Rachel and the senator would see him
in a different light . . .”—he grinned—“as a
fanatic . . . a dreamer . . . thwarted
in his wild quest. Then the senator would look elsewhere to secure his
daughter’s future.”

He exchanged hostile
looks with Tom.

“You see, Sheriff, I
didn’t
covet
that contraption. I didn’t want to steal it and make money
off it. I wanted to
destroy
it.”

The sheriff studied his
subject without expression.

“But I never got that
far. As I began to gather the soil, I saw a man looking at me in the distance.
I didn’t know then that it was Tom, but I ran away. I went to the other side of
the hill where the big house was, fixing to reach the invention from that route
and perform my deed, but I saw lanterns on and people outside. I knew something
strange had happened, so I cleared out and went home. I didn’t learn what had
occurred till you came to my home the next day, Sheriff.”

“That can’t be!” said
Tom.

“It can be, and it was,”
said Nash. “That was all there was to it. I went to the Crossroads that night
fixing to damage your invention, but I ended up leaving without doing
anything.”

“But it wouldn’t make
sense for you to sabotage the invention. It makes more sense for you to have
stolen it to profit from it yourself. That would’ve brought you financial
stability and made you look good to Rachel and the senator.”

Rachel looked flustered
when the conversation turned to her personal affairs. “Hush up, Tom!”

But Tom was undeterred.
“Look, somebody stole the device. If it wasn’t Cooper, then who? You were
there. You could’ve taken the prototype to investors and made an arrangement
with them to develop it further. You could’ve done it secretly, and profited,
then made up a story about coming into some money. You would’ve been able to
pay off your debts and appeal to Rachel and her family as a serious suitor. It
makes more sense that you went to the Crossroads that night to steal a new
device that could make you wealthy.”

“What ravings! It’s clear
modesty isn’t one of your virtues,” quipped Nash.

“You would’ve put the
cover back on the motor to protect the invention. It was vital for you to keep
everything intact as you hauled it off, so you could sell it to investors for a
good profit.”

“Well, Tom, since you’re
so smart, tell me: Why would I still be there at the Crossroads
after
the
crime was committed? The senator was already murdered when you saw me by the
slaves’ garden. Isn’t that so?”

Tom stroked his chin in
concentration, then offered a theory.

“Maybe you first hid the
tractor somewhere in the brush, then you came back to bury the knife, which you
put in your saddlebag. Maybe you were trying to plant the weapon near the
slaves’ quarters, so the murder would be pinned on one of them, on someone you
deemed your inferior, so you’d feel no compunction when a poor bondsman was executed
for your crime. A slave would provide a decoy that would be very easy to
prosecute and convict, and thereby end the investigation, so no one would ever
suspect you. Everyone would believe that a slave who was fearful of new master,
someone much stricter than his old mistress, could be driven to a desperate
act. And everyone would believe that a slave could also steal property out of
sheer rebelliousness, or steal it to redirect suspicion to a white man.”

As Tom spoke, Nash shook
his head.

The sheriff seemed
content to let Tom continue with his theory and to study the exchange between
him and Nash.

“But when I spotted you,
I would’ve thwarted your plan to hide the weapon by the slaves’ quarters and
pin the crime on one of them. So later, you disposed of the weapon in the woods
where I found it.”

Nash bristled. “Pure
poppycock!”

“Then when Cooper was
accused instead of a slave, you would’ve had a sudden pang of conscience at the
last minute and written the note to reveal the weapon’s location and exonerate
an innocent man of your crime.”

“You’re mad!”

“The night of the crime,
when you tried to slip the cover back on, you made noise, which the senator
heard from his open window. He came out and caught you, and you were disgraced
in his eyes. You would have had no chance ever for the wealth and marriage you
envisioned. So you killed the senator and went on with your scheme. Isn’t that
what happened?” offered Tom.

“I hated that invention.
I went there to destroy it, but I never got near it,” Nash bellowed. “Besides,
why would I carry a murder weapon clear to Manning Creek? Why not just toss it
in the bayou?”

“Well,” said Tom,
thinking aloud, “when you couldn’t bury the weapon at the Crossroads and pin
the crime on a slave, maybe you decided on another plan. If you planted the
knife a great distance away, then you could reveal its location later, if
necessary, to make me believe that the invention also could be hidden over so
large an area that a search was futile. I might’ve given up searching. Then you
could’ve waited a while, and when interest in the case died down, you could
have secretly gotten the device out of the South.”

“Sheriff, there’s no
evidence
whatsoever
for Tom’s wild accusations.”

“That’s quite true, Mr.
Nottingham,” the sheriff agreed. “But we do have you spotted at the Crossroads
that night, and we have your animosity toward Mr. Edmunton, and the senator’s
animosity toward you.”

“Maybe you would’ve
welcomed Senator Barnwell coming in to spoil your burglary as an excuse to do
away with him,” said Tom.

The sheriff raised his
eyebrows.

“Now, this has gone too
far—” Nash snarled.

“You knew the senator was
staying at the Crossroads that night. You knew he might be closing a deal with
Cooper the next day to sell the place, foiling another one of your schemes”—Tom
laughed contemptuously—“to have him give you Rachel’s hand and Polly’s
plantation as a wedding present.”