Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel (32 page)

A curly head poked out of the window. “Hey, Miss Kat, Dr. Tim,” whispered Virgil. “Y’all come to help Uncle Jackson?”

Lamar shoved his cousin out of the way and stuck his head out the window so far he nearly lost his balance. “You ought to be someplace else, Miss Kat, things don’t look good around here tonight.”

“I’ll be fine, Lamar, don’t you worry.”

Biggers leaned a shoulder against the ship-lap siding next to the window. “What y’all supposed to be doing ‘bout now? I don’t think your daddy’s want you boys hanging out the windows.”

“We gonna help fight,” Lamar announced.

“Going kick white butts,” Virgil yelled over Lamar’s shoulder.

“Is that so?” Biggers handed Kat his rifle. “Y’all boys move on out of my way.” He used his arms to pull himself over the window sill. Once inside he turned and stuck his hand out the open space. “My rifle, if you will, Miss Kat.”

“You gonna stay in there?” she asked, transferring the weapon to its owner.

“My young soldiers and I will battle from this position,” he said.

“Good idea, could get a little dicey in there. If y’all need backup, give me a call.”

Biggers nodded and disappeared inside, she heard him giving orders for the boys to move to the rear of the house.

Mitch crept to the corner. Kat followed his lead. Crouched beside the house and hidden from the street by a tangle of honeysuckle, she laid her gun down long enough to rip the splint off her left hand. She flexed her fingers, it hurt some, but the slight ache wouldn’t slow her down. She picked up the Colt revolver she’d borrowed from Biggers, and rechecked the cylinder.

“Good to go, partner?” Mitch whispered.

When she saw the stake-bed truck coming down the street the white-hot flame of panic erupted in her chest and traveled up her spine.

They’ll see me.

The trembling began with her hands. The gun fell to the ground.

“Kat?” The voice faint.

They’ll see me.
An emotion beyond fear ruled her mind and body. Kat crawled into the glowing mist surrounding the honeysuckle bush. The roaring in her ears grew louder with each heartbeat, drowning out all sounds. Deaf and blinded by absolute terror, she curled in a ball, seeking invisibility.

Hands on her shoulders.
White Hands.
She clawed at them, desperate to keep the hands from touching her again.

=TWENTY-FOUR=

Mitch didn’t know
what he should do. The Gordon’s front yard was about to fill up with Kluxers and his partner huddled in the shadows. Every time he tried to touch her she fought like a feral animal. He feared if tried to force it that she would flip out and attract unwanted attention from the KKK members.

He eased toward the rear of Pastor Gordon’s house, closer to the window Biggers had climbed through earlier. He tapped the gun barrel on the glass.

The window slid open, Biggers stuck his head out. “Problems?” he whispered.

Mitch nodded. “Kat’s having a big time panic attack. She’s curled up in the bushes and won’t let me touch her.”

“Hold on.” His head disappeared. After a brief conversation with Lamar and Virgil, the doctor climbed out the window.

* * *

The pickup skidded to a stop in the middle of the street. Nine hooded men in white robes piled out carrying baseball bats and chains. Unable to reach the preacher’s yard directly, they clambered over the cars parked bumper-to-bumper along Webster Avenue.

Pastor Jackson Gordon, five-foot five-inches and of slight build, waited for them on the second step, Bible in hand. “Evening,” he said, once all nine men stood in his yard.

“Hear you been keepin’ a jigaboo bitch here at your place,” the mob leader said. “One who got herself all beat up.”

“Got no woman here,” Gordon answered.

“Hand her over,” the leader demanded.

The preacher moved off the steps and into the yard. “Got no woman here.”

“We know that nigger bitch been at your house,” a man in the back of the crowd shouted.

“Seen her with that boy of yours,” another voice called out.

“Yeah, and we don’t plan on wasting no more time,” the leader said. “Hand her over, preacher man.”

“Got no woman here,” Gordon repeated.

“You keepin’ all that nigger for yourself, boy?” asked the man in back.

Their rumbling grew louder and more angry.

The leader moved closer, swinging the heavy chain in a tight circle, with each arc it struck the ground, kicking up a dust cloud.

* * *

“There’s too many jackasses around here right now to try moving her inside,” Timothy Biggers whispered.

Mitch agreed; any form of physical contact with Kat was out of the question. Especially since the doctor hadn’t had any better luck with Kat. In fact, he seemed to have made matters worse, because if they so much as twitched a finger now, she flailed wildly in the air. Sooner or later, all this activity in the shadows would be noticed.

“We’ll have to screen her from the yard,” Mitch said. “I don’t want her to see those robes … and I sure as hell don’t want them to see her.”

“We may end up on the defensive,” Biggers said, studying their position.

“Damn it,” Mitch muttered, his attention diverted as the mob leader closed in on Pastor Gordon. “That’s Billy Lee.”

“Billy Lee Mitchell?” Biggers asked, peering intently through the bushes. “You know him?”

“He’s a relative.”

Biggers grunted. “Nice family tree you got.”

“Thanks.”

“You sure it’s him?”

“Do bears shit in the woods, doc? That robe can’t hide his voice. Or his swagger.”

“Or his brass knuckles,” Biggers added, pointing to the glint off Billy Lee’s hand. “Saw him rip a fellow’s face open with those once.”

“I guarantee he won’t rip anyone open tonight.”

“If we have to shoot him will it cause family problems?”

“You might say that.”

* * *

The klan members insults grew louder and more pointed as the hooded men moved into position, forming a semicircle around the preacher. The air crackled with anger. And fear.

Billy Lee Mitchell rattled his chain. “What kind of fertilizer you want us to make out of that pup of yours?”

Pastor Gordon remained silent.

“I put fifty pounds of coon babies on my cotton last year and doubled the crop,” one man said.

“I mixed mine in with the hog slop. Got the best damn hams in the state of Alabama,” another commented.

Billy Lee turned his back on Gordon and addressed his men, “This is by-God America, and we’re by-God Americans. I say we take a vote.” The men hollered in agreement.

“Who’s for piccaninny cotton fertilizer?” he asked.

A robust “Yes!” erupted.

“Nigger boy hog slop?”

The crowed erupted, cheering and whistling.

“Guess that’s the winner. Looks like your boy’s going to be chopped up for the hogs, Preacher Man. Or…” He paused dramatically, then raised his hood slightly and spit a wad of tobacco on Gordon’s shoes. “Or … you could just make it easy on yourself and hand over the woman.”

“Got no woman here,” Gordon stated again.

Billy Lee swung the chain.

The side of the preacher’s head and neck burst open, releasing a flood of red. In seconds, his white shirt was saturated. The Bible in his hand was blood slick, but he stayed on his feet, his face passive.

“You got shit for brains, Sambo?” someone in the mob shouted.

“Give us the woman,” Billy Lee growled.

“Got no wom—”

“That’s the last fucking time those words is gonna come out of your mouth.” Billy Lee swung the chain at the preacher’s legs until Gordon collapsed.

Pastor Gordon struggled to his knees and slowly raised the dripping Bible above his head.

On his signal, Webster Avenue lit up like the Fourth of July. Every porch light, inside house light and car headlight along the street clicked on. Radios and television sets were turned full volume. Outside, automobile horns and car radios blared.

The hooded men turned in circles, confused and stunned by the light and cacophonous noise, then moved closer together. A pack of scared dogs.

Billy Lee whipped around, the dirt clung to the hem of his white robe. “A little bit of racket ain’t gonna scare us off, nigger.” He swung his chain, repeatedly striking the preacher until Gordon fell face forward on the ground.

As though someone had pulled the plug, the sound ceased. The nine men spread apart, murmuring and kicking up a mini-dust storm as they milled around the front yard.

Billy Lee bent over and shook Gordon’s shoulder. “Where’s the woman?”

“Got no woman here.”

“Kick the living shit out of him, Billy Lee,” the man in back shouted.

“Goddamn it!” Billy Lee exploded. “No names.”

“Aww hell, these damn niggers don’t care about no names. Half of ‘em can’t read or write.”

“And they’re deaf as bats.”

“Just shut it up,” Billy Lee said.

Pastor Gordon raised his head slightly until he could see the circle of men. “I can read, and I can write,” he said. “And I’m good at remembering too.”

Billy Lee viciously kicked at the preacher’s ribs until his head dropped again.

* * *

“We’ve got to do something,” Mitch whispered. “They’ll kill him.”

Biggers rested a hand on his back. “Wait up. Jackson’s still calling the shots. I don’t think it’s a done deal yet.”

“Those boys are playing for keeps. They want him dead. This is going to end real soon. And end badly.”

“You Yankees are always forgetting how slow things move in the South. We’re nowhere near the end of this evening’s soiree. We still have time to get our hands dirty.”

“You’re going to sit here and let them beat him to death?” Biggers’ cavalier attitude didn’t set well with Mitch. His police training focused on
intervention
not
wait and see
.

Biggers grinned. “Now that ain’t gonna happen.” He pointed to the yard. “You watch out yonder.”

* * *

Billy Lee kicked half heartedly at the preacher, then backed off. “How’s your memory now, tar baby?” he taunted. “Bet you’ll remember this night for a long time.”

Gordon lifted his head and smiled. “And so shall you.” He raised his trembling Bible once more.