Chapter 13
The eerie outline of the hastily constructed scaffold stood boldly against the blue sky, and the mingling crowd started when a quick succession of shots was fired nearby.
“What’s happening?” Pernelia Jacquish shrieked when a stray bullet broke through a barred window in the upper story of the jailhouse.
Clusters of people scattered, seeking cover from wild shots, and several men bolted across the road, hoping to provide assistance.
“Door’s locked!” one of the men yelled.
Ben appeared near the shattered window moments later and called down. “Doctor Rooney is going to need his bag. And I’ll need one of those pieces of canvas sheeting.”
“Who is it? Who’s dead?” Hilda frantically called, leaving her hiding space and racing across the street. “Arlo? Arlo!”
“I’m here, Hildie-love. Just settle yourself and let the Sheriff do what needs to be done,” the breathless husband shouted down.
A final shot split the air, and the throng gasped when the men near the window pivoted away. “What’s happening?” an anxious bystander squealed.
Ben turned back and urgently demanded, “Clear the streets, and get me another piece of canvas!”
“You need help up there?” Simon Rassbach hollered. “I’ll send some of my men up.”
“Don’t think that’s going to be necessary. Doctor Rooney’s working on Orville now, but it don’t look good,” Ben answered after taking a quick peek over his shoulder.
A woman’s shrill cry pierced the noise of the bystanders, and Ben’s shoulders fell. Poor Pernelia, he thought.
“What about the other one?” Rassbach demanded. “Are we in any danger?”
“No danger. Not anymore. Just get me the canvas, and have Mr. Jacquish bring the wagon over here. I don’t feel like hauling these two across the street.”
Ben moved back into the room, and then another thought crossed his mind. So he returned to the busted-out window. “Hilda?” he called. When his special deputy acknowledged his summons, the lawman said, “Take Pernelia on home. She doesn’t need to see this.”
The morbid curiosity of the crowd seemed to grow, and Ben grunted, “Rassbach, if your men want to help, get them to clear the streets. This party is over.” And with that final announcement, Ben threw the shutters closed, drowning out all the other nonsense.
“I’m sorry for scaring you and the children, ma’am,” Ben said later that evening as he explained the stand-off to Roseanna. “I didn’t think about how what was happening might affect you or the boys.”
Roseanna wrapped her hands around her waist and tried to hold the tremors inside. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered before gathering her courage. “Will you move us back upstairs now?” she timidly asked.
“Of course not! Judge Lemke found you ‘not guilty.’ Remember?”
“But those men. They were here to steal my children and give them to Mr. Matthews.”
Reaching across the small table, Ben patted the frightened girl’s hand. “Unfortunately, the judge’s verdict won’t stop Gerald Matthews from pursuing custody of the children. But you cannot be tried on kidnapping charges again.”
“What difference does it make?” the young mother questioned. “If he finds out where I am, he will try to take my boys from me.”
Ben turned away in guilty silence, his conscience burning a hole through his resolve. “You spoke with Judge Lemke and told him the rest of your story?”
“Yes,” she cautiously answered.
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t be there,” he apologized. “And that means I’m likely going to need to ask you some questions you’ve already answered.” The young lady shrank into her shawl, and Ben felt like a cad. “I’m sorry, but there were other things I had to see to on Saturday. Otherwise, I would have been here.”
“I understand,” she answered on a sigh. “What do you need to know?”
“Why were you in Baton Rouge?”
“My Ma and her Confederate . . . business partner . . . are there. I thought she would help me. But when I sought her out? Well, that’s when the whole story came out – how she sent me to Mr. Matthews, knowing what he expected of me.”
“The business partner? You referred to him as your mother’s lover in a previous conversation.”
Roseanna nodded.
“What kind of business?” Ben asked, his intuition saying there was more to the story.
Huffing out her frustration, Roseanna scowled. “If you must know, it is the same type of business she was running from my Pa’s farm. Only now it’s not just her and my cousins. She’s got other women involved. And one of my sisters,” the anxious girl finished in a small voice. “I wanted Nicolet to come away with me, but . . .”
“But she wanted to stay?” Ben quietly asked, unable to fathom any other reason.
“NO! No,” Roseanna protested. “I had a few small trinkets Mr. Matthews had given me after the birth of each of my sons. I sold them before I left Philadelphia. That got me to Baton Rouge. But there were only a few coins left when I arrived at the dock where Ma’s floating den of sin is moored.
“Ma’s partner intended to put me to work and ship my sons back to Philadelphia. But one of the soiled doves - an absolute stranger - gave me everything she had so I could slip away.” Roseanna paused, her voice going hoarse. “There wasn’t enough money for Nicolet to join me.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Nicolet is NINE years old, Sheriff. What do you think!?!”
Ben’s stomach soured, and he felt the moisture gathering in his eyes. His youngest sister was about the same age, and he couldn’t fathom Lottie in such a desperate state.
“Do you think any of us wanted to be sold into this . . . this . . . slavery?” Roseanna gasped between sobs. “Men fought and died to free the negro. But who will fight to free us?”