Wilderness Double Edition 22, page 19
“But we saw a young girl come out of here a while ago who is part Indian,” Annie mentioned. “How does she rate?”
“Are you referring to Miss Evelyn Borke? She looks more white than red. And, too, her aunt, Athena, has been here several times before, and travels in the same social circles as Mr. Wilkerson.”
Confusion and shock seized Zach. “What did you just say?”
“Sir?”
“Evelyn’s last name is King, not Borke, and Athena is no more her aunt than you are.”
“I am only repeating what the staff has been told,” the doorman said. “Now if you would be so kind, vacate the premises or I will send for a constable.”
“What about me?” Apple Annie asked. “Am I allowed inside or is your Mr. Wilkerson only partial to ladies with scads of money?”
“It’s all right by me if you go in,” the doorman said with a gracious smile, opening the door for her.
Zach yearned to knock him to the ground but Annie turned and pushed on his chest. “Wait for me on the corner. I won’t be long. Please. It’s for the best.”
Reluctantly, he backed down the steps and went over to stand beside a parked phaeton where he was less likely to be spotted by Athena Borke if she returned.
Zach was simmering inside. Once again he had been the victim of white bigotry. Everywhere he went, they threw it in his face, a gauntlet he resented with every fiber of his being. And Annie wondered why he had not adopted white ways! For as far back as he could remember, whites had looked down their noses at him because of the color of his skin. Because in their eyes, half of him was somehow inferior to the other half. He was tainted by birth to forever be treated with scorn and prejudice. Nothing he could say, nothing he could do, would ever change that.
It was impossible to stand still so Zach began pacing, his arms folded, his head bowed. To be so close and to be thwarted compounded his anger. Seeing Evelyn had temporarily filled him with joy, but now he was asking the same question he had asked every day since her abduction: To what sinister end had Athena done it? He did not doubt for a second that Athena had something diabolical planned. Her brothers had been as callous as they were vicious, and he had seen nothing to indicate their sister was any different.
Engrossed in his brooding, Zach did not realize a purple carriage had rattled around the corner until it came to a stop near the phaeton. Thinking it might be them, his heart leaped, but the carriage was empty. Hastening over, he forced a smile. “Did you just drop off Athena Borke and a young girl named Evelyn?”
About to climb down, the driver regarded him with a faint air of suspicion. “I did not catch their names, sir.”
“A woman in black and a girl of thirteen,” Zach clarified. Almost fourteen, now that he thought about it.
“What business might it be of yours?”
Zach resisted grabbing him by his purple coat and dashing him headfirst to the hard ground. Since the driver might not believe him if he said he was Evelyn’s brother, he came up with something else. “I have a pony for sale and the woman was interested in buying it. But I got here late and saw them leave.”
“Ah.” The driver became friendlier. “Yes, you missed them. I dropped them off at the Wilkerson estate.”
“Is this the same Wilkerson who owns The Harvest House?”
“One and the same,” the driver confirmed. “He’s also one of the richest men in the city. Some say the richest.”
“Then I should go there,” Zach said, more to himself.
“I wouldn’t, were I you.” The driver glanced around, then bent so no one could overhear. “A word of advice. You couldn’t set foot on the estate if you wanted to. It’s patrolled by guards and dogs twenty-four hours a day.”
Zach nodded. “Then I’ll wait here for them to return.”
“It’s my understanding that Miss Borke intends to remain at Mr. Wilkerson’s for the remainder of her stay. She’s having her effects taken over later.” Then the driver said a strange thing. “That poor child.”
“How’s that?” Zach asked.
“Nothing. Forget I mentioned anything.” The driver climbed down and walked to another purple carriage waiting for patrons of the purple hotel to require its services.
A minute later Apple Annie emerged. Her features troubled, she walked slowly, as if dazed, and gave a start when he grabbed her wrist.
“Did they throw you out?”
“It’s your sister,” Annie said bleakly. “The desk clerk told me they took her to the Wilkerson estate. I’ve heard tales about that place.”
“What kind of tales?” Zach was impatient to be on his way.
“About people who are taken there and never heard from again.”
Seven
The Dark Mansion, it was called. Feared and shunned by the locals. Whispers were spread about strange goings-on at all hours, and of screams and cries occasionally heard in the dead of night.
Harold Wilkerson was notoriously eccentric. Painting his hotel purple was only one example. Another was his mansion, which he had painted completely black. Then he had a ten-foot wail erected and posted guards with dogs to ensure privacy.
Wilkerson was an Easterner who had moved to New Orleans ten years ago from New York City. Little was known about his background other than that he came from an old family of European extraction, and that he had more money than most banks. His name, it was rumored, was not the name the family was known by in Europe. They had changed it because of dark secrets in the family’s past.
Rumor also had it that due to his great wealth and influence, the authorities turned a blind eye to certain unsavory practices in which Harold K. Wilkerson and his select guests indulged.
All this Zach learned on their long walk to the estate. Apple Annie had heard all the stories. About how on certain nights of the year hooded figures could be seen moving about inside the walls, and peculiar chanting was heard. About how Wilkerson dabbled in doings wiser heads avoided. There were whispers of devil worship and arcane rituals.
“A bunch of silliness, if you ask me,” was how Zach summed up his sentiments. “Who in their right mind would worship the devil?” Who, in his estimation, did not even exist.
“All I’m doing is repeating what I’ve heard,” Annie said. “It’s why no one goes near the Dark Mansion. Ever.”
“Then we’ll be the first,” Zach said, and could not comprehend why she laughed and hugged him.
“You said ‘we,’ ” Annie cooed. “I can’t tell you how great it feels to have a friend again.”
Zach was going to remark that she was making more of it than she should, but the happy gleam in her eyes changed his mind. She was an odd one, this woman, ah most as odd in her way as Harold K. Wilkerson was rumored to be in his. But then, as far as Zach was concerned, the same could be said of most whites. His wife, father, and uncle were rare exceptions.
“Look,” Annie suddenly said.
One thing about New Orleans. Much of it was below sea level, the ground so flat, it reminded Zach of the prairie. A person could see for miles when his view wasn’t blocked by buildings, and now, standing on a slight hummock in the road, Zach beheld the Wilkerson estate in the distance. It was situated east of the city, in an isolated swampy area, an unusual site for someone to choose to live. High walls surrounded ten acres or more. Beyond, rearing darkly into the overcast afternoon sky, were the black walls and dark roof of the infamous Dark Mansion.
Annie gave a slight shiver even though the temperature had to be in the nineties. “There’s something about that place,” she said softly, but did not elaborate.
They had walked to spare the expense of a carriage. Zach was low on money, and he refused to impose on Annie’s generous nature more than he already had. Now he regretted it. If they had come by carriage he could send her back. For truth to tell, he did not like the looks of the place.
“The Dark Mansion is well named,” Annie observed. “I’ve never been out this far, and I can’t say as I ever want to come this way again.”
Zach saw that as an opening. “Head back to the city. I’ll go on alone from here.” A splash in the water diverted his attention to the swamp that hemmed the dirt road on both sides. Shadowy islands of thick vegetation broke its still surface. But there was no life anywhere – no birds taking wing or breaking into song, no insects buzzing or chirping, not even the croak of a frog.
“Like heck you will,” Annie said. “When will you stop bringing that up, for goodness sake? I want to do what I can to help your sis.”
“You don’t know her.”
Annie frowned. “That was cruel. I didn’t know you, either, but I lent a helping hand when you needed it.”
“I’m obliged.” But Zach was puzzled by her attachment to him. She knew he was married and nothing could come of it, so why was she being so kind?
“I had a sister,” Annie said as though she could read his thoughts. “Winifred. Four years younger than me. When our folks died we were put an in orphanage because my uncle and aunt refused to let us go live with them. The nuns were hoping they could place us a with a family that would take us both but a couple came along and wanted only Winnie.” Her fingers strayed to his arm. “I can still see her crying her heart out as they carried her away. It tore me up inside worse than anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Zach said.
“They said I could write to her and I did but she never wrote back. After about six months I couldn’t take it anymore and I slipped out of the orphanage late one night and walked the six miles to the address the nuns had given me. I hid in the bushes waiting for Winnie to show herself but no one ever did. Along about noon an old woman came by and I asked her if she knew where they were and she told me the couple had left about a week after the adoption and she didn’t know where they went.”
Her voice was breaking so Zach said, “If it hurts you to talk about it, maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Oh, it’s all right. I don’t cry about it but once a month or so these days.” Annie smiled thinly. “With Winnie gone, I figured I didn’t have much to live for so I took to the streets and have been there ever since.”
“You’re doing all this because my sister makes you think of yours.”
Annie averted her face. “Something like that.”
Another splash snapped Zach’s head around in time to see the tail of a fish flip under the water. Seconds later something else, something much larger, created a swell of ripples that converged on the spot where the fish had disappeared, and the water erupted in a brief frenzy. Then all was still.
“There are gators in the swamp,” Annie said. “Some big enough to swallow a person whole, or so people say.”
Zach seriously doubted there had ever been an alligator that huge. But he saw something else that brought him to a stop. Guards atop the estate walls were staring in their direction. “We’ve been spotted,” he announced, and instantly wheeled. Darting into the swamp would do no good, and there was nowhere else to hide.
“I wouldn’t worry,” Annie said. “They don’t dare sic their dogs on us. This isn’t a private road.”
Or was it? Zach wondered. Had Wilkerson paid to have it constructed from his vast fortune? Not that it was of any consequence. The important thing was to avoid arousing suspicion and to get out of there. He would return later, much later, alone, and with his guns.
Annie was gazing over her shoulder. “Your sister has to be in there somewhere. How can we just leave like this?”
“Athena Borke must not suspect I am here,” Zach said. His greatest fear now was that she would flee again, taking Evelyn with her.
“How is your head?” Annie unexpectedly asked.
“Fine,” Zach lied. It hurt constantly. Any abrupt movement triggered a pounding ache that made thinking difficult.
Thereafter they hiked in silence except for random splashes and furtive rustling from the swamp. Once an enormous snake crossed the road not twenty feet in front of them, its body as thick as Zach’s arm, its blunt head triangular, its scaly skin as black as the Dark Mansion.
On they hiked. They neared her apartment. Annie had been glancing at Zach repeatedly as if mustering the nerve to say something. Finally she did. “You’re going back tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
Deciding it would serve no purpose to deny it, Zach nodded. He thought she would be mad. He had forgotten how unpredictable females could be. Instead, she chuckled and smacked his shoulder.
“You’re a bluff, do you know that? From your too long hair to the tips of those fancy beaded moccasins, you are one hundred percent bluff.”
“Can you speak English or will I need a translator of my own?”
Chortling, Annie said, “You always act so tough, so mean. But deep down inside you’re a kitten. I saw through you the first night we met when you gave me that money. You have a heart as big as Louisiana.”
Zach remembered the raid on the Borke trading post, remembered the butchered bodies littering the ground afterward, and how in his bloodlust he had slain without mercy. “Think so, do you?”
“I know so. You couldn’t harm a fly unless your life depended on it. We’re a lot alike, you and me. Two gentle souls trapped in a cold, cruel world.”
Of the many ways Zach had been described by many people, “gentle” was not one of them. “I am not as you think I am.”
“Sure, sure. That’s what all men say. But if you want to pretend you’re a mean Shoshone warrior, it’s fine by me.”
Zach was insulted. He was a Shoshone warrior. His mother was Shoshone, and he had spent more time among her people than among whites. He had grown to manhood under the tutelage of renowned Shoshone warriors like Touch The Clouds and Drags The Rope. He had counted coup and was accorded a seat at their councils, a remarkable honor for a half-blood. “There is much of my world you do not know,” he settled for saying.
“Just as there is a lot about the white world you don’t know,” Annie rebutted, “or pretend you don’t. But men are good at that, too. Denying what is right in front of their noses.”
Her comment made no sense. Taking her hand, Zach shook it. “Here is where we part company. I thank you again for all you have done. Maybe we will meet again in this life.”
“You can bet your beads we will,” Annie vowed. “I’d like to meet this wife of yours and find out why she took up with someone so loco.”
Zach walked off and made it as far as the corner before he had to look back. He was pleased, yet also disappointed, to see she was gone. Inside, no doubt, so she would not break down and cry in front of him. Women were emotional like that. Coughing to clear his throat, he bent his steps to the tract of woodland where his guns were hidden. No one had disturbed them in his absence.
Slinging his possibles bag, powder horn and ammo pouch across his chest and shoulders, Zach verified both his flintlock pistols and his Hawken were loaded, then tucked the pistols under his belt.
Now all he had to do was wait for night to fall.
Stretching out on his back, his hands cupped under his head, Zach closed his eyes. Some rest would do him wonders. All the many sleepless nights, and now the head wound, were taking a toll. He was not as alert as he should be, not the bottomless well of stamina he had always been.
Unbidden, Louisa’s image popped into his head. He imagined she was mad enough to beat him with a rock for going off alone as he had and leaving her with his uncle, Shakespeare McNair. For that matter, McNair was bound to be mad, too, because he had lit out without waiting for his father and mother to reach Kansas, where the kidnapping took place.
Athena Borke. Zach had seldom loathed anyone as much as he loathed her. He had never desired to hurt a woman before but he keenly desired to hurt her. She did not deserve a quick death, that one. For all the suffering she had caused with her heinous deed, she deserved to be burned alive or to have her skin flayed and then be staked out over an ant hill.
Zach did not try to fool himself about the outcome should he be caught. To whites, harming a woman was unthinkable. Should he be linked to the crime, they would track him down and string him up from the most convenient tree after a not-so-convenient trial. But he would not turn back. He would not change his mind. He was committed to spilling Athena Borke’s blood and he would let nothing stand in his way.
Drowsiness came over him, and Zach dozed off. When next he opened his eyes, the sky was dominated by stars. Stunned, he leaped to his feet. The sun had set an hour ago.
Even though it was dark, Zach took the precaution of wrapping the Hawken in his blanket before stepping from the thicket. No one was around, and soon he was bearing east along a side street.
Too few street lamps was a complaint mentioned on the front page of a newspaper Zach had seen. But the Dispatch's pet peeve worked in his favor. He avoided streets that had them. Whenever he came to a house or business with light spilling from its windows, he crossed to the other side. The scores of people he passed remained in complete ignorance of the fact he was armed as if for war.
Beyond the city, the air was pleasantly cool and much less muggy. Once Zach was on the lonely stretch of road to the Wilkerson estate, the night and the swampland closed in around him. The swamp pulsed and throbbed with the croaking of frogs and the chirping of crickets, to say nothing of the many grunts, screeches, cries and snarls that rose in feral chorus.
Zach stuck to the middle of the road. Alligators sometimes came out on land and he would rather not blunder into one in the dark.
Distant bright rectangles gave Zach some idea of how far he had to go. He kept expecting a carriage to come along but none did. When he was within five hundred yards of the high walls, he slowed. He must not be spotted.
Zach was debating whether to slip through the swamp and come up on the estate from the north or the south when a new sound keened as stridently as the shriek of a panther, a sound that momentarily hushed the frogs and crickets and other creatures of the night and formed a ball of gnawing anxiety in the pit of Zach’s stomach. There was no mistaking it for anything other than what it was: the scream of a woman, or a young girl, in dire terror.
