Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel (40 page)

“Your accent,” he said. “I’m from Pennsylvania and I guess I recognized a fellow Yankee.”

“Not too many like us in Alabama.” She held out her hand. “I’m Pamela Mitchell and this is my daughter, Carolyn.”

Mitch grasped her hand desperately trying to think up an alias. Why did names like Vito Correlone, Forrest Gump, and Rocky Balboa keep popping into his head? He needed something that remotely resembled the Pennsylvania Dutch names.

“I’m Han Solo.”

“Hans?” she asked. “Like in the children’s book,
Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates
?”

“Almost, it’s just Han. There’s not an ‘
s’
on the end. They forgot to put it on my birth certificate. My mother picked the name because she used to read a lot. She always loved fairy tales. You know, the ‘lived happily ever after’ stuff.”

“I love to read, or at least I did before I married. When I attended the University of Alabama, I majored in English Literature.” She sighed. “Billy Lee says reading is a waste of time for a woman.”

“Well
Billy Lee
is way off base. He’s trying to control you, make you as stupid as he is.”

“He’s not stupid, Han.”

“Okay, he’s not stupid. But he is acting like an ogre, and I learned a lot about ogres from my own father.” Mitch started the engine.

“Your dad was a hitter?”

“A champion hitter.”

“Did your mother leave him?”

His heart skipped a beat. That was a Catch-22 question. Another look at his mother’s face and the baby’s purple arms settled the issue. “Yes, she did. Only not soon enough,” he said. “She waited too long and it cost her a child.”

“Oh God.” Pamela trembled and hugged Carolyn. “Your father hurt—”

“Not hurt, Pamela,” Mitch said. “He
killed
my little sister.”

“Your poor mother. Knowing if she’d only left him sooner…What a terrible thing to endure.”

“Given the chance again, I’m certain she’d leave him the first time he hit the baby.”

“I wish I had the courage. Sometimes Billy Lee gets so angry it scares me, and I’m afraid if I stay, something bad will happen to both of us.” She kissed the top of Carolyn’s head.

“Sounds to me like you’ve already made the decision. Maybe you’re stronger and braver than you think.”

“My whole life would change.”

“Yes, and it would probably be a good change.”

Mitch kept his eyes on the road, afraid Pamela would see the shine of tears in his eyes. He knew her life would be so much better if she left Billy Lee now. She was young enough to find a man to love her and Carolyn the right way. Wonderful things lay ahead, if he could only convince his mother to leave Billy Lee Mitchell.

Of course, if he succeeded there would be another change.

“Where to, m’lady?” he asked, praying she didn’t tell him to take her back home.

Pamela shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t made many friends in Maceyville, I’m a little
too Yankee
.”

He chuckled. “I think we’re both
too Yankee
for this place. But, I do have friends in Maceyville. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you stayed with them.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know Dr. Timothy Biggers?” When she nodded, he continued. “I’m staying at his place and he’s got plenty of extra rooms.”

“What about Billy Lee? He’ll come looking for us.”

“Maybe not.”

Mitch knew what the end result of this confrontation with his father would be, and had no qualms about moving his chess piece that direction. This woman deserved more happiness than she’d known, and he wanted her little girl to live. He held the power to ensure a better life for his mother and sister. And he intended to do just that, regardless of the consequence.

=THIRTY-ONE=

Lettie Ruth saw
the bloodied doctor leaning against the check-in desk.

Biggers raised his head high enough to meet her gaze.

He may have been hurt some, but the fury in his eyes told her he would be all right. She figured the first chance to come his way Timothy would be running the show down here.

Her escort gave her a rough shove, then twisted her arm behind her back.

She didn’t fight his iron grip because she would be no use to the others if he started in on her. Once upstairs, and away from the other three men, she’d get down to business. Dreama Simms may have taken all those classes on nonviolent resistance, but Lettie Ruth Rayson had taken different classes. A girl didn’t grow up in the streets of New Orleans without learning how to take care of herself.

As they cleared the landing, she saw the bathroom door inch open. In case the Pastor or Lamar hadn’t seen them, she thought it best to make their presence known.

“Let go of me you redneck jackass!” she shouted. She jerked her arm free and swung wildly at her captor’s head. She felt a burst of satisfaction when she connected with his nose. A second later, a red blossom of blood stained the muslin hood.

“Stupid nigger.” He grabbed a handful of hair and slammed her head into the wall. “You best learn to mind your manners.”

She shook her head, clearing the stars swimming in front of her eyes. It could’ve been worse, she thought. He could of taken a baseball bat or a chain… Her thoughts faded as she looked him over. This particular Klansman didn’t carry anything in his hands, no weapon that she could see. Of course he might have a gun tucked in his belt, but then again, he might not.

* * *

Lamar heard the confrontation in the hall and knelt behind the couch, the shotgun propped on the back cushion and aimed at the open door. He took slow breaths and tried to control the trembling in his hands. Right now the gun wiggled so much he wouldn’t be able to hit anything. He laid his cheek against the stock and sighted down the barrel, his finger curled around the trigger.

He didn’t know if he could pull the trigger. ‘
Thou Shalt Not Kill’.
That was the sixth commandment. No matter how mad he got at those Egyptians, even old Moses knew better than to break that rule. And Lamar didn’t like the idea of spending eternity in the fires of Hell. On the other hand, he didn’t much care for people exploding Dr. Tim’s house and beating up on the people inside.

When Lettie Ruth stumbled through the door, followed by the hooded man, all of Lamar’s earlier doubts and nervousness disappeared. He felt ice cold. His hands steadied.

It took several seconds for the situation to register on the hooded man, but Lettie Ruth was quicker. She immediately dropped to the ground, giving Lamar a clear shot.

He held his breath and pulled one hammer back on the double-barrel shotgun. He jerked the trigger.

* * *

Lettie Ruth opened her mouth to tell the boy to stop, but when she saw the murderous rage in the Kluxer’s eyes she fell to the floor. If Lamar missed, the man would kill him.

The shotgun roared like an angry fire-breathing dragon bent on destruction. A wide section of doorframe vanished as the dragon took its first bite.

The recoil knocked the boy backwards and he disappeared behind the sofa.

The man jumped over Lettie Ruth and clambered across the flowered cushions. Within seconds he reappeared, with Lamar in one hand and the shotgun in the other. He twisted the boy’s arm behind his back and shoved him toward the center of the room.

“You ought to know better, pickaninny.” He held the gun over his head, then threw it into the hall like a javelin. “Your pop toy ain’t no match against mine.”

Lettie Ruth’s fears came to pass when he pulled a handgun from inside his shirt. She figured Lamar had about thirty seconds to live if she didn’t do something. The TV room didn’t stock a supply of weapons, so her resources were limited. Other than a few magazines and jigsaw puzzles, there wasn’t anything of use. While the man toyed with Lamar, she eased a hand down her leg until she touched her shoe. A size eight, white nurse’s oxford, probably wouldn’t be the ideal weapon for defense, but under the circumstances it seemed pretty damn good.

Slipping the shoe off her left foot, she gripped the toe end. Plotting her moves like a choreographer, she brought her arm around in a sweeping arc at the same time shifting from a prone position to kneeling.

Sensing her movements, the man turned toward her, which left his groin vulnerable.

Lettie Ruth rammed the one and a quarter inch rubber heel into his testicles.

He screamed and doubled over. In a second he lay moaning in the floor, curled in the fetal position. He still clutched the gun near his head and she kicked his wrist with her right foot, the heavy oxford sent the gun sliding across the hardwood floor and underneath the sofa.

“Get it, Lamar,” she told him.

The boy slithered under the sofa and soon emerged with the weapon.

“Point it at him,” she instructed. “And if he so much as blinks an eyelash, you shoot.” With a final glance at the fallen man, she moved toward the door. The shotgun lay in the hall. If she could reach it in time this fight was about to change.

* * *

The lightening flashed like a strobe, and thunder rumbled ominously. The storm hovered over Maceyville like a dark and evil spirit bent on revenge. Kat fidgeted in the cast iron tub. Fueled by adrenalin she found it difficult to remain still. When another volley of thunder roared through town, she stood.

Standing, with one leg outside the bathtub and one leg inside, she froze when the shotgun blast echoed throughout the three-story structure.
Who’d fired? And who got shot?
Her next action depended upon the answer.

If the wounded party was one of the invaders, hurrah for the good guys.

If not, one of her new friends needed help.

Suddenly someone screamed.

The high-pitched wail of agony penetrated Kat’s adrenalin armor and the white-hot flames of fear began. “Oh, no,” she whispered. People needed her help, she couldn’t let this happen again.

She fought against the clawing hands of terror, but lacked the strength to break free. The prickly sensation moved through her body. Nothing seemed real. She seemed to float down into the bathtub where she curled in a small trembling ball.

Mixed up images filled the screen behind her closed eyes. The cotton field, men in robes, white pickups. Mitch, Lettie Ruth. The pictures rotated with such speed she felt nauseous. Somehow, in all this insanity Kat knew she was in the midst of another panic attack. She struggled with the raw surge of emotions, fiercely battling the demons of fear.

“God, help me,” she whispered.

* * *

The three men rushed from the waiting area to the foot of the stairs when the shotgun exploded. After a murmured conference, one climbed to the second floor.

A haze floated in the air and the smell of burned gun powder caused him to sneeze. Slivers of wood and chunks of plaster littered the hall. He hesitated, nobody had brought a weapon except Billy Lee, and he was still downstairs. So who pulled the trigger?

He eased over to the wall and pressed his back against the plaster. His eyes swept back and forth with each sideways step toward the first open door. It was too quiet and not to his liking. After the front door blew apart, the folks inside ought to have been running around and making noise.