In the evenings Quigley and Abednego sat on the porch of Harry Corbett’s house smoking their pipes. At these moments they did not speak much to each other. Only the smoke rings that floated above their heads spoke of their sorrow. At odd moments one of them would remember something from the very distant world of Fairfield Farms. Then they would ruminate about it. And after some more silence one would provide some piece of wisdom. Like when Quigley related some titbit from the Underground Railroad grapevine: Mrs. Fairfield was rumored to have manumitted her exotic slave and run away with him to Ohio. Since the runaway lovers could not feel safe anywhere in the state, they were en route to Canada. After digesting the news with a few puffs and a number of lazy smoke rings Abednego observed that the hunting season would provide particularly tasty deer that year.
One day, after a particularly long silence, Abednego jumped up and said: “We gotta do something!”
“’Bout what?” asked Quigley.
“Birdman…Nicodemus. You was right, Niall. We gotta find Tobias.”
“Yeah,” agreed Quigley. “None of us gonna be top dollar till we do something about the bastard.”
It was not easy to find William Tobias. People had not heard of him for many years, which was rather strange because he had been a flamboyant fellow who was in love with his own booming voice and was fond of riding the paved streets with a throng of bodyguards in red and black uniforms that resembled those of some storybook military guard. And then one day, poof, William Tobias was not there!
It took a lot of patience to find him living a frugal life in the town of Ripley, Ohio. Clearly the man was enamored of the Ripley name since his origins were in a town of a similar name in Virginia. The two men could not understand how Tobias had fallen on hard times since slave hunting, even in those dying years of slavery, was still a lucrative business. When they found him in a run-down house he was in conference with another man who soon left on horseback. Quigley knew him immediately as one of the sons of the Reverend Rankin and wondered what a respected abolitionist and slave stealer was doing with a dirty man like Tobias.
Abednego was suddenly seized by a fit of anger, which he tried to control nevertheless. He remembered that face very well, although Tobias was now much grayer and the face had lost its luster and chubbiness. The man extended his hand to greet the visitors but Abednego could not bring himself to touch the hand that had murdered his brother. Quigley quickly withdrew his in solidarity.
Tobias did not know who the men were, but he invited them in and offered them his hospitality despite the obvious meagerness of his means. Even when the men introduced themselves their names did not mean anything to him. He assumed that they had come to join him for evening prayers or had some slave fugitive business to discuss.
“So how come you so poor if you still in that business?” asked Quigley.
Tobias laughed, and then said his guests were misunderstanding him. If they were looking for a slave hunter they had come to the wrong place. He had found the Lord, or the Lord found him, years ago. He was now a Quaker and an abolitionist. He was working in cahoots with the Rankin family and other Underground Railroad operators. That was why he had settled in Ripley by the Ohio River.
“Shite,” screamed Quigley, “you wanna make things difficult for us. We came to bloody do you in.”
“Why do you want to kill me?” asked Tobias.
“’Cause you killed my brother,” said Abednego. He did not say anything about Birdman. It was already obvious to both men that Tobias had nothing to do with Birdman’s capture. When it happened he was already a Quaker abolitionist.
“I don’t know your brother,” said Tobias.
Abednego took this as an indication that William Tobias was a callous liar who was now denying murdering his brother when he saw him do it with his own eyes. He hit him on the head with his Brown Bess, the flintlock musket that he used to carry during his conductor days but that had never fired a shot in anger. Tobias fell on the floor. He pleaded with the men to leave him alone for he had no money to give them. Whatever he owned had been given to the poor years ago. He had had a personal encounter with God. Because God’s spirit lived deep in his soul he was a pacifist and did not believe in any form of violence or in the taking of human life.
“Shut up, you son of a bitch,” yelled Abednego, blinded by rage. “You killed my brother Nicodemus in cold blood. You captured fugitives and took them back to slavery.”
At this time Tobias was on his knees, his shaking hands together as if in prayer.
“That was then; I am a changed man now. I renounced that sinful life years ago. I disavowed all belief in slavery and in the inferiority of any race of God’s people. I have the Inner Light. God has forgiven me.”
“That ain’t gonna bring my brother back,” said Abednego raising the musket and taking aim. Quigley was too slow to stop him from blasting the man’s head off. Quigley then whipped out his own pistol and shot Tobias’s corpse so as to share his friend’s guilt and to personally experience any pangs of conscience that were sure to attack Abednego when he regained his sanity.
The two mounted their horses and escaped. They knew that the abolitionists of Ripley would be up in arms searching for the killers, thinking that they were slave hunters. The two former slaves wept uncontrollably as they fled for their lives from the wrath of the abolitionists.
The killing of William Tobias did not heal the two men’s deep sorrow. Instead it became worse. They spent the remaining days of their lives sitting on the porch brooding about William Tobias. They had killed a man who did not fight back. A man who was kneeling down in prayer.
7. Ghost Orchids
Orpah. She will never know the things I have done with her in my dreams. In my sleeping and waking hours. In the day and in the night. Throughout the winter months right up to this scented season — the final weeks of spring. Even as I sit on a mound wailing like the wind for the child who is lying in a small white coffin my thoughts are racing up and down the contours of her naked body. It does not help that she is standing across from me in a black dress and black lampshade hat. I have never seen her in a dress before. It makes her look more voluptuous than she really is. She is holding a small bouquet of rambling roses. The serenity on her face is befitting to the occasion.
I try very hard to focus on the business at hand; namely, mourning the child in the coffin. I need to excel myself, for this is the first opportunity I have had in this community to mourn in public. The audience are the relatives of the deceased, which is the same as saying every adult in Kilvert. From the depths of my soul I draw deep and hollow groans, howls, whimpers and moans as rhythmic as they are harrowing. My lamentations are meant to help the grieving relatives who have been numbed by the pain of death come to terms with their sorrow. Through my tears I share their anguish with the rest of the world. For me this is a glorious moment. It’s been a while since I have mourned at a live funeral.
Ruth and Mahlon are here too. He brought a chair for her since she cannot stand for long periods. He dutifully stands behind her. She is in a navy blue dress with yellow flowers and a black and white fur pillbox hat. She has obviously sewn the dress herself and it hangs like a tent on her. He is in a rumpled gray suit, white shirt and a colorful tie with an image of Mickey Mouse. Even on this solemn occasion he has a smile, although it is fainter than usual. He holds a Bible with his left hand and Ruth’s ample shoulder with his right.