A Dream of Daring (24 page)

Markham’s lips curled as
if he wanted to bite Tom.

“And you could make even
more money, a great deal more, if you could
sell
the tractor. In fact, if
you could steal the invention and sell it to someone with a lot of cash to
develop it, then you could quit working altogether and live off the proceeds.
That thought could have occurred to you as you stood there in the old carriage
house, marveling at an invention you’d never seen before. With your poor yields
from recent years and a new owner coming to the Crossroads, well, your future
employment is less than certain—”

“Hogwash!” said Markham.

“You could’ve come back
that night to steal the device. In the process, you could’ve awakened Senator
Barnwell, who
tried . . . valiantly . . . to
rescue . . . it.” The horror of the event surfaced in Tom’s
voice. “You could’ve had a knife with you from the plantation, which you
obtained beforehand. You could’ve performed the vile deed, taken the device,
hid it nearby, and left the senator on the floor where Ted Cooper found him.
Later, after you returned to your cabin, I knocked on your door before you’d
had a chance to undress. So you lied about why you were dressed and what you
were doing at that hour, and you feigned surprise at the terrible news I
brought.”

“I
was
surprised
fer real!” roared Markham.

“You would’ve had plenty
of time after that night to hide the device and weapon farther away, to make
them nearly impossible to find.”

Tom sat back, looking at
Markham. The women fanned themselves nervously. Everyone waited for the
overseer’s reply.

“Okay, Mr. Markham. Tell
us your side,” said the sheriff.

“That’s all humbug,
beginnin’ to end, Sheriff.”

“Then what’s the truth?”

“The Yankee’s a fool.
That’s the truth.”

The sheriff persisted.
“Then tell us what really happened.”

“Nothin’ to tell.”

“You did see the
invention in the old carriage house, as you told us previously?” asked the
sheriff.

“I seen it.”

“You were dressed to go
out in the middle of the night, and you told Mr. Edmunton and later you told me
that you were going to patrol the slave cabins as you do every night. Correct?”

“What of it?”

“Do you really patrol
those cabins, Mr. Markham?”

“Who sez I don’t?”

“Come clean, Mr.
Markham,” the sheriff continued. “You weren’t patrolling any slave cabins. You
were dressed to do something else, weren’t you?”

“It’s not what yer
thinkin’.”

“Why were you going out
that night? Did it have something to do with the invention?”

“I didn’t kill nobody,
Sheriff. And I ain’t never got near the contraption.”

“What happened that
night?” asked the sheriff, growing impatient.

“I was about to do
somethin’, but I never got the chance. The Yankee here come to my door jus’ as
I was leavin’.”

“What were you about to
do?” the sheriff prodded.

“It warn’t my idea. I was
workin’ fer somebody else.”

“What wasn’t your idea?”

“To take the machine.”

“To take it and do what?”

“Somebody wanted it
smashed. Paid me half a year’s wages to do it.”

Tom’s head shot up.

“Continue, Mr. Markham,”
said the sheriff.

“Somebody paid me two
hundred dollars up front and was givin’ me ’nother two when I done it. You can
see the money yerself. It’s in a bag given to me.”

“Exactly what were you
being paid to do?” The sheriff persisted.

“To take the invention
away. Smash it to smithereens. Bury the parts. I was about to git the ax and my
horse, then go over the hill to haul the thing away. That was when he come to
my door.” Markham pointed hatefully to Tom.

“That can’t be true,
Markham,” said Tom. “It makes no sense.”

“No? Somebody tol’ me
what that thing was, that it’ll do farmin’, that it’ll replace the slaves and
maybe even replace
me
.”

“Who told you that?” Tom
continued.

“The person that wanted
it smashed. I tell ya, I was happy to do it. I was double happy to get paid fer
it. Why would I want a bunch o’ no-good slaves runnin’ wild, takin’ my job?”

The sheriff stood up and
walked close to Markham, towering over him. “Who paid you?” he said.

“Somebody who wanted the
engine chopped up.”

“Who?” This time it was
Tom who was on his feet grilling Markham.

“I don’ want it held
against me. I was just gonna do what I was told.”

“Who told you to take the
invention and smash it, Mr. Markham?” Duran pressed.

The sheriff’s voice was
stern. His deputy put his hand on a pair of handcuffs tied to his belt, as if
getting ready to use them. Markham’s eyes darted from the deputy’s cuffs to the
sheriff’s face. He stood up and pleaded with the lawman.

“Lord’s sake, Sheriff,
don’ ask. I got my job to think of.”

“You’ve got your
life
to think of, Mr. Markham. Who gave you money and put you up to stealing the
invention?”

Markham looked at
Charlotte. “Please don’t hold it against me, ma’am. Please!”

“Who wanted the invention
smashed and was willing to pay you a half year’s wages to do it?” Duran
demanded.

Sweat from Markham’s
forehead sprinkled on the rug as he lowered his head and shook it in refusal.
Then he slowly raised it in acquiescence.

“’Twas Wiley Barnwell.”

Chapter
20

Tom looked shaken by
Markham’s words. He walked up to the overseer and pointed a finger at his
chest. “You’re lying!”

“Oh, yeah?” Markham
slapped Tom’s hand down and grabbed for his throat.

“Sit down, gentlemen!”
ordered the sheriff, wedging himself between them.

The coroner stood too,
ready to assist the sheriff.

Exchanging angry stares,
the men complied. Duran and Dr. Clark returned to their seats also, in an
effort to ease the building tension.

Tom’s head dropped. With
his face hidden, he looked like a boy encountering his first disillusionment.
“The senator wouldn’t do that to me,” he whispered, as if talking to himself.

“Oh, no?” Cooper smiled
at Tom’s discomfort. Life had returned to the man saved from the hangman’s
noose. “Sounds just like old Wiley to me.”

“It’s certainly more in
tune with the man I had the great honor of knowing!” Nash looked pleased by the
turn of events. “The senator was always the first one to defend our traditions
against outsiders.” He glanced at the women, as if hoping to impress.

“You think it’s okay to
destroy a new invention?” Tom raised his head in astonishment. “I have a higher
opinion of the senator. I know he’d never do that.”

Duran looked at Cooper
and Nash, “Did either of you actually
hear
the senator express any
opinion of the invention?”

The men shook their
heads.

“Mrs. Barnwell,” said the
sheriff, “did you ever hear your husband say anything about Mr. Edmunton’s
invention?”

“I don’t know if Wiley
was fixing to do any mischief to that machine or not,” said Charlotte. “If he
was, he didn’t share his thoughts with me.”

The sheriff’s face was
drawn tight and his eyes were bulging, on heightened alert to everything said.

“I don’t know if Wiley
realized what was troubling me,” his widow added. “Even before
the . . . crime . . . I feared that
Tom’s device might be . . . 
cursed
.”

Tom looked as if he’d
been slapped.

The sheriff turned to
Rachel. “What about you, Miss Barnwell?”

“Papa didn’t say anything
to me, Sheriff. Of course, I urged him to talk to Tom about his obsession with
that machine. Seemed downright unhealthy, it did.”

Tom looked as if he’d
been slapped again.

“To tell the truth,”
Charlotte said, reflecting, “I worried that Rachel would be taken away from us
and moved to the North because of Tom’s wild ideas. The senator assured me he’d
see to it that Tom wouldn’t pursue that path. He said Tom was young and a bit
brash, and without a father, he needed guidance.”

She looked at Tom, her
eyebrows raised, as if she were hoping to impress her words upon him. “Of
course, Tom’s quite a nice young man. I don’t mean to say we didn’t like him
very much, but he just needed a little
grooming
.”

It was Tom’s turn to
raise his eyebrows, not liking to hear himself described the way someone would
describe a horse.

“Ladies, are you saying
that Mr. Markham’s story about the senator fixing to harm the invention makes
sense to you?” asked the sheriff.

“It does,” said Rachel,
nodding.

“It wouldn’t surprise
me,” added Charlotte.

Only two people in the
room—Tom and the sheriff—looked surprised that the women nonchalantly
considered their patriarch capable of betrayal and theft.

“But do you have any
evidence
?”
Duran asked.

The women shook their
heads.

“Sheriff, they’re wrong
about the senator.” Tom stood up before the group. “We can’t forget the meaning
of his tragic death,” he said painfully. “He fought to
save
my tractor,
not to destroy it. Doesn’t the evidence show that the senator tried to ward off
the robber?”

The sheriff listened
without comment.

“Markham lied about his
activities on the night of the crime,” Tom continued. “Now that we’ve caught
him in his deception, he belatedly admits he intended to steal the device. He’s
certainly not going to admit to the actual theft and murder, so he’s made up a
story.”

“’Tis the gospel truth,”
the overseer insisted.

“Markham went to the old
carriage house to steal the invention for his personal gain. He put on the
cover. The senator heard rumblings, came out to investigate, and defended the
invention with his life. Markham then stabbed him, took the device, hid it
somewhere, and returned home, where I later found him. Doesn’t that seem like
the logical theory that fits the evidence?”

“’Taint so, Yankee!”
roared Markham, rising from his chair. Any pretense at cordiality toward the
man who was his acting manager was no longer possible. “When the senator got to
the Crossroads that mornin’, he called for me. He shown me the contraption. He
told me what he wanted me to do. Gave me money. We made a deal.”

Tom shook his head. “The
senator said he was going to the Crossroads early that day to inspect the place
before Cooper’s visit—”

“He didn’t inspect
nothin’. He come to see me and make a deal. That mornin’ when he shown it to me
was the last I seen o’ the contraption. The crime was done ’fore I could git to
do my business that night.”

The sheriff stood up and
walked to Markham. He faced the overseer squarely.

“You saw the invention,”
Duran said sternly. “You knew its location, and you were told what it was. Isn’t
that so, Mr. Markham?”

“Like I said.”

“You made a deal to steal
it?”

“But I didn’t hurt
nobody.”

“You were up and dressed
to do the deed that night?”

“But I never got to do it
’fore the Yankee here knocked on my door.”

“You lied to me about
your plans for that night?” Duran continued.

“I didn’t see no reason
to mention—”

“You took the invention?”

“Somebody stole it ’fore
I left the house.”

“Who?” asked the sheriff.

“How am I to know?”

“How is it that the man
who supposedly hired you to steal the invention is dead, Mr. Markham?” Duran’s
voice was hard.

The overseer had no
reply.

“Look, Markham, you had
access to the weapon,” interjected Tom. “You had knowledge of the invention.
And you had the opportunity to commit the crime. Later, when Cooper was about
to be hanged, some vestige of guilt seeped into your conscience, so it was
you
who wrote the anonymous letter to free a man from paying for your crime. You
were the one who left that letter at my house in the night, so I would stop the
execution. This was what you did to relieve your conscience from a second
death. Wasn’t it?”

“Them’s lies! All lies!”
thundered the accused. His fists tightened, eager to contact Tom’s face.

“What do you think, Dr.
Clark?” The sheriff turned to the coroner.

“Let’s take him in,”
replied the coroner grimly.

Duran nodded in
agreement, then turned to his deputies. “Cuff him.”

One deputy placed
Markham’s hands behind him; the other curled manacles around his wrists. The
clicking of the iron locks filled the room.

“Wait!” The urgent voice
of a woman came from outside the room.

Kate Markham stepped into
view in the narrow opening between the two panels of the pocket door. She slid
the panels open further and walked into the room. She faced the group solemnly,
without any attempt to hide or excuse the fact that she had been eavesdropping.

“Did you say the murderer
wrote a
letter
?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Markham,” said
the sheriff, who had been introduced to her earlier. “Haven’t you been
following the case?”

“No, Sheriff. I’m afraid
I haven’t been reading the newspapers, but I do know that my brother could not
have committed that crime.”

“Stay outta this! They
got nothin’ on me. I kin clear myself,” barked Markham.

Ignoring her brother,
Kate continued. “You said the murderer wrote a letter—”

“Hush up!” yelled
Markham.

“My brother couldn’t
possibly have written that letter or any other document.”

“What do you mean?” asked
Tom.

“He told me he kept the
plantation journals,” added Cooper.

“He couldn’t have kept
the journals, either.” Kate frowned at her brother.

The sheriff cocked his
head as he appraised the woman. “Why not, Miss Markham?”

“Shut up, Katy!”

“Because he’s
illiterate.”

Like a creature who gets
a sudden glimpse of what it means to be fully human and of how far short he
falls, Markham’s face flushed and his eyes dropped in an embarrassment that was
awkward for the others to watch.

“Damn you!” he mumbled to
his sister through gritted teeth.

“Sheriff, my brother
never had any inclination for book learning. When our mother sent us to our
little town school, Bret paid no attention to his lessons, and the other
students surpassed him in every subject. But where he excelled was in beating
them up after class.”

The sharp glance she shot
at her brother suggested that time had not tempered her reaction to the events
she described.

“And Brett especially
enjoyed beating up those who couldn’t fight back, like the slave children he
encountered when my father took a job as an overseer. So you see, Bret never
learned, never wanted to learn.”

Markham was silenced by
his sister’s rebuke. He listened docilely, as if he were still a boy and her
voice had the power of their mother.

“After Miss Polly died,
my brother downright
begged
me to come here and stay for a while—not to
manage the house servants, as Miss Charlotte and Mr. Edmunton were concerned
about, but to keep the books.” As she spoke, her brother fidgeted like a boy
caught stealing cookies. “I didn’t realize he was lying to folks about that,
but it seems to me Miss Polly kept those journals.”

“We can find out easily
enough,” said Tom. Impelled by a sudden idea, he rushed out of the room and
returned moments later with a book and an envelope in his hands.

“This is the plantation
journal from last year. And in this envelope we’ll find a letter Polly
apparently wrote just before she died but never mailed. I discovered it earlier
on her writing table.”

The sheriff took the
documents. He removed the letter from the envelope. “It’s signed by Polly
Barnwell and dated just a week before she died.” Then he flipped through the
journal, comparing the handwriting in it to that of the letter. “Looks
identical to me.”

He turned to the coroner,
who had come to his side and was also examining the documents. Dr. Clark nodded
in agreement.

“You don’t read at all?”
the coroner asked Markham.

“I can read the cotton
scale an’ write slave names by their pickin’ weights good as anybody.”

“That’s about all he can
do,” Kate added.

Cooper turned sharply to
Markham. “Why did you tell me
you
kept those books?”

Markham’s head sunk into
his shoulders.

Kate shook her head
reproachfully at her brother. “Bret may be a liar and a fool, but he’s no
writer.”

Tom faced Markham
incredulously. “What would you have done if Ted Cooper had bought the
plantation, then discovered that you can’t keep records after all, and that you
lied to him?”

Markham shrugged his
shoulders. “Then’s then. Now’s now.”

Tom knew that the man
before him, who couldn’t project the consequences of his actions over mere
weeks, was not someone who could have projected the consequences of an
invention into the far future.

The others were silent.
Somehow, they also knew this was true.

Kate stated what they all
were thinking: “Sheriff, if you’re looking for a murderer who had a conscience
and wrote a letter so somebody else wouldn’t be punished, well, I don’t know
about the conscience, but as far as writing the letter, Bret’s not your man.”

The sheriff nodded. He
turned to his deputy and gestured to Markham. The deputy removed the handcuffs.

“Now I understand where
that purse came from,” Kate told the sheriff. “Bret didn’t have any money when
I visited him at Christmas. Fact is, he was trying to squeeze some out of me.
But when I came back in February after Miss Polly’s death, he had two hundred
dollars in a purse. He claimed it was his bonus for a good crop.”

Kate darted an angry look
at her brother, who lowered his head in silent admission of yet another lie.
The powerful overseer who made slaves tremble in fear was himself cowered by
his older sister’s scolding.

“Sheriff, I know my
brother likes to gamble and drink. That’s why I wouldn’t let him touch the
money until his position with the new owner of the Crossroads was secured. I
have the purse with the two hundred dollars, if you’d like to see it.”

“Before we leave, you can
show us, ma’am,” said the sheriff without urgency, evidently moving on in his
hunt.

Tom stood nearby, in
unblinking shock from the revelations. He walked slowly toward Markham.

“I can believe
you
didn’t appreciate my device. But the
senator
?” His eyes dropped
painfully to the floor. He added, as if talking to himself: “The man who
treated me like a
son
?”

Sporting a rare smile,
Markham replied: “He was only playin’ with you, boy.”