Chapter 19

Alexander Beall sat waiting in Thomas Brookes' library before noon the next day. The weather had turned mild again with almost no wind to shake the leafless trees. Beall admired the neat rows of leather bound books and the framed prints of knights and kings. The room smelled of furniture oil and tobacco smoke. A neglected fire guttered in the small fireplace.

The elder Mr. Brookes entered with a distinct limp, shook Beall's hand and poked at the fire. "Damn cold weather gets in my bones, Mr. Beall. How can I help you today?"

"Sir," Beall began, "your son and I have had, well he may have told you that the last time I was here, we had an argument and I struck him."

Brookes' eyebrows rose and fell twice. "My, no he did not tell me. He said that you had been rude to him, and I replied that I doubted it very much. That was all I recall. You actually struck him, with your fist?"

"Yes sir, I did. He insulted a lady friend of mine, and I'm afraid I lost my temper. It was very unfortunate."

"My, my. Yes indeed. Well, I heard nothing of it."

"Your son and I had a brief discussion of his relationship with Mr. Sparks, your former overseer, and..."

I was here when you threatened to sic the dogs on me." Beall watched James Brookes eyes and then his gun hand, neither twitched. "I told your father that some people say that you were here, in Arnold County, back in '77, and that they saw you with Sparks. It seemed to distress him somewhat." Beall tipped his hat, put his knees to his horse and rode slowly past Brookes and out the gate without looking back.

When Beall reached the tavern that had once served as a courthouse, he ordered a beer and saluted the bartender, "Ho Stud, how's things today?" Beall put on his best smile although he still churned inside.

"Oh fine, just fine, Sheriff," Stud replied, "but you better go see Annie over there. Think she's got some problems." Stud returned to polishing glasses, and Beall took his beer to the fireplace and Annie's favorite seat which looked much like an old fashioned church pew.

"How are you, Miss Ann?" he said sitting down beside her. She had her cat in her lap.

She turned her face away and said, "Fine, jes' fine. Why?"

"Oh, Stud said you had the miseries and..."

"Damn Stud. Can't mind his own business," she said with real anger, her hoyden nature bubbling to the surface.

"Are you crying?" Beall asked to the back of her curly head. "Here, look at me." He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Ouch, damn!" she said and pulled away from him, still looking into the fire.

"What's wrong, girl?"

"Oh, I made a mistake that's all. Nothin's broke." She turned to face him, and the cat jumped down and marched away, tail high. The left side of her face was swollen, the eye almost closed. "I fell and hurt my shoulder." She rubbed at her clavicle. "It's hurt, but I don't think it's broke. Hit right on the end of the bed. Burnt my hand too, on the stove, put butter on that. Damn." She put her head on Beall's chest and cried softly.

He held her a while and then said. "Tell me what happened."

"No, won't," she said. "None a'your damn business. Not Stud's neither, either."

"Come on, aren't we friends?"

She sniffed and looked up at him. "All right, but jus' listen. No questions, hear. This boy, well, man, I've had him before yesterday. He's cleaner than most, but, well, so, he couldn't do it; couldn't get it up. Happens sometimes, don't you smile. Bet it's happened to you. Anyhow, so I was helping him, with my hand, you know. Gentle like, just stroking, and he start's yelling and hits me, and 'fore I know it I'm on the floor, and he's pulling up his drawers. I took a swing at him, and he pushed me, and that's when I burned my hand. He called me a name and left, just like that. Bastard!"

Beall stroked her hair and waited, but she seemed to be finished and in control of herself so he sat back and drank his beer.

"What did he call you, Annie?"

"Don't want to say. Gonna forget it."

"Come on, what'd he call you that was so bad?"

"Left-handed bitch, that's what he yelled. That make any sense?"

"No, you're not left-handed, are you?"

"You know I'm not, but the way we was, we were lying it was the only way I could do it so I used my left hand, and he went all crazy. What the hell difference does it make? Damn."

The ghost of Lem Clagett, thought Beall, and he shivered.