Secret Tides Page 5

  York was already there and off his horse. “Waterin’ hole,” he said as he did every time they stopped at this spot.

  Josh turned to Ruby. “We’ll take some rest here. Let the animals drink.”

  Ruby hopped down as the mules reached the water. Josh jumped out, unhooked the mules, then led them down the shallow bank where they could drink. York took off his hat, fell to his knees, and plunged his face into the creek. Josh dipped his hands in the clear water and then washed his head and neck. Flies buzzed at his eyes, but he brushed them away. He drank deeply. When he looked up, he saw Ruby downstream, her face also in the water. His squeamish feeling returned. Servants always drank downstream of white folks, lest their spittle mix in the water and float down to where their betters drank. But what made one person better than another? Didn’t the Lord love all folks equally?

  He took a deep breath. “Some food is in the wagon under the seat,” he called to Ruby. “I’m sure a biscuit with a piece of ham would taste fine right now.”

  She stood and walked toward the wagon. Josh joined York on the bank. York took out the last of his store-bought tobacco, put the chaw in his mouth, and tossed the wrapper to the ground. A couple of minutes later, Ruby brought them biscuits and ham. Josh took some, handed some to York, then gave the rest back to Ruby. She sat down under a tall pine some distance away.

  For several minutes Josh and York rested and ate under the thick branches of an oak that partially hid the sun. When Josh’s eyes grew heavy, he decided to take a short nap. Finding a shady spot just up from the creek, he stretched out on the loamy soil. His eyes stared into the creek. Even the water moved lazily. Josh yawned and almost closed his eyes, but then a piece of paper floated by. Josh blinked in surprise; it looked like money!

  Josh glanced at York to see if his half brother had noticed, but he hadn’t. When Josh looked back at the creek, he saw a second piece of paper close behind the first. He stood and waded gently into the water, his boots filling with the warm liquid.

  Bending, he picked up both pieces of paper. They were two five-dollar bills, issued from the Bank of Columbia, South Carolina.

  Josh checked York again. He was still resting, his eyes closed. Josh scanned the creek but saw no more money. He started to go back to shore but then heard a low moan.

  “You hear that?” he whispered to York.

  York stirred but didn’t speak. Another moan sounded. Josh eased toward the sound, careful not to splash. The creek bent left about ten yards away, and Josh peeked around the edge. The undergrowth grew thicker here, and the sun seemed distant. Josh bent lower. Then he saw it—a man’s body—a short distance away, his lower half in the water, his face staring at the sky! Josh almost called for York but then grew cautious. What if somebody had harmed this man and now lurked nearby?

  Wishing he had the pistol he kept under the wagon seat, Josh moved quietly through the creek and reached the unmoving form by the bank. The man wore a collared brown shirt and a belt with a carved silver buckle. A sandy beard covered his face, and his hair looked freshly cut. One of his hands lay palm up, as if expecting somebody to put something in it.

  Josh squatted to search the man for signs of injury but saw none. The man’s eyes remained closed, and a soft groan again escaped his lips.

  “Hey!”

  Josh looked up and saw York coming his way, his angular body sloshing through the water. Josh threw up a hand to signal for quiet. York slowed, but not much; he reached Josh in a matter of seconds.

  “What you got here?” York asked, squatting by Josh. “Looks like a fancy man.”

  “He’s hurt,” said Josh. “But I see no injury.”

  York grabbed the man and propped him in a sitting position against his side. Josh’s eyes widened. Blood covered the man’s lower back and had seeped into the ground beneath him.

  “Back shot,” said York as calmly as if announcing he wanted apple pie for dessert. “Not long ago from the looks of it.” He laid the man down.

  “How bad you think it is?” Josh asked.

  York stood without answering, his eyes searching the brush that hemmed them in. Josh stood too and peered up and down the creek bank.

  “Spread out,” ordered York. “See what you can find.”

  “What about him?” Josh pointed at the injured man.

  “We’ve both seen that kind of wound. He took a shot from the back, and it got somethin’ vital, liver maybe. He ain’t long for this world, I’m figurin’.”

  “We ought to stay with him,” Josh said.

  “Do what you want. But I’m thinkin’ the man who shot him might still be around here. If he is, I want to know it.”

  Josh stared at the wounded man while York eased away. Josh bent and gently opened the man’s eyes. They showed white. “I’m Josh Cain,” he said softly. “I’ll sit by you.”

  The man’s eyes flickered but didn’t open.

  “You got any words?” whispered Josh. “Anybody I ought to see for you?”

  The man’s mouth moved as if he wanted to speak. Josh lowered an ear.

  “Ru … ,” the man muttered.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Ru … Ruth.”

  “Ruth?” Josh repeated.

  The man tipped his head slightly as if to say more, but then his neck relaxed. Josh knew the man had died. He ground his teeth as bad memories of the war flooded back. He’d hoped he’d never have to see another man die. Gathering his emotions, Josh folded the man’s arms over his chest and checked for York, but he had already disappeared around the bend. Josh stood to go after him, but something to his left caught his eye. A piece of white paper peeked out from under a thick stack of driftwood a few feet away. He pushed back a bit of brush and pulled out the paper; it was another five-dollar bill. Confused, he brushed it off, looked back at the dead man, then once more at the driftwood. His curiosity getting the better of him, he dropped to his knees and cleared away a few more limbs, twigs, and leaves. Then he saw the hole. Quickly Josh scanned the area. Had the dead man tried to bury something, then cover it up with driftwood?

  Josh scooped out handfuls of the soft dirt. After a minute or so his fingers hit a solid object. He dug faster and, within seconds, found a wooden box the length of a hammer handle resting in the dirt. After brushing off the top, Josh hurriedly opened it and saw two stacks of money. He glanced around again, then focused once more on the box. Several layers of money lay inside—fives, tens, and twenties, even a few hundreds. His eyes rounded as he touched the money, more than he’d ever imagined, much less touched!

  Josh rocked back and sat down, his hands full of cash. He tried to figure what had happened. Obviously, the dead man had buried this money. Just as obviously, somebody had killed him while trying to find it. He and York had interrupted the thief’s efforts. But who really owned the money? Had the bearded man taken it from the man who shot him, and that man was simply trying to get back what was rightfully his? Or did the money belong to the bearded man, who had fallen into the hands of a thief?

  Unable to answer, Josh started counting. When he reached three thousand dollars and still had more to go, he stopped. A sense of disbelief hit him. Who carried this kind of cash? Not even the wealthiest of plantation owners possessed this much loose money.

  Then a shot rang out. Josh forgot the money and jumped to his feet.

  Another shot sounded.

  “Josh!” The yell roared down the creek bed.

  Josh shoved the money back into the box, hid it back under the driftwood, and rushed back into the creek, toward the yell. Another volley sounded. Josh tripped and fell, got up, and ran harder. Water spilled down his face and chest. When Josh rounded the bend, York was standing in the middle of the creek, his pistol pointed toward a mammoth oak on the bank. Josh sloshed forward, forgetting caution as he reached York. “You see anybody?” he shouted.

  “I might’ve shot him!” panted York.

  “You okay?”

  York spat tobacco juice and ran towar
d the oak without answering. Josh followed, and together they reached the oak. Blood drops stained the tree’s roots, and Josh dropped to a knee to inspect them. York ran past him, pistol ready. Josh checked the blood once more, then followed York into the woods. He found York about fifty yards in, leaning against a tree, panting.

  “He’s gone,” said York.

  “You get a glimpse of anybody?”

  “Nope, not really.”

  Josh saw blood on York’s fingers and realized he’d been shot. “How bad are you hurt?”

  York twisted and showed Josh a wound in his left bicep. “The ball cleared the flesh. I’ll clean it. Be fine.”

  “Should we go after him?” Josh nodded toward the woods.

  York shook his head. “Reckon not. This ain’t really our business. We got materials in the wagon that need deliverin’. We’ll go into Beaufort after we get home. Tell the sheriff. He’ll handle it all.”

  “Guess he’s got a murder to figure out.”

  “Your man die?”

  Josh nodded.

  “We’ll take him to The Oak,” said York. “See what to do from there.”

  Josh thought of the money. What if …? No, he wouldn’t even consider that. The Good Book said the love of money was the root of all evil. Yet that much money could change a man’s life. Send a man’s kids to a fine school; buy a man a piece of land for his family. Give him freedom so he didn’t have to work for somebody else.

  Josh tried to lick his lips, but they felt glued together. He and York started back toward the dead man. Josh wondered if York would notice the spot under the driftwood. If not, he could just leave the money for now, come back in a day or so to pick it up. But what if the other man returned and found it first?

  When they rounded the creek bend, Josh saw Ruby kneeling by the dead man. York sloshed toward her, Josh behind him.

  “This man be dead,” Ruby said.

  “We know,” said York, reaching her. “Somebody shot him, then ran off. We went after him.”

  Ruby stood and Josh knelt by the man. His eyes darted to the hidden money, and he thought again of keeping it. Yet Josh Cain had never stolen before. He never cheated, didn’t use swearwords, didn’t even drink. None of those vices faintly appealed to him. Then why did the notion of stealing the money claw at him so hard? He wiped his hands on his pants, then focused on his fingers. They looked clean, but he knew otherwise. They’d touched another man’s money and now wanted to keep it.

  He dipped his hands into the water and rubbed them hard together, hoping they’d feel cleansed. As the sun peeped through the trees and reflected off the water, Josh stared into the creek and thought of his mother who had raised him close to a creek just like this one. They’d taken fish from that creek, bathed in it, played in it, drunk from it. His mother’s fine features seemed to rise up from the wet, a question in her eyes.

  Josh wiped his face. His mother, now deceased, had worked as a schoolteacher all her life, never owned much of anything except her dignity, good character, and her unfailing faith in the Lord’s goodness, despite hard times. Since his father had died before Josh knew him, his mother had taught him everything he knew—how to read, how to deal with honor with other folks, how to labor hard. What would his mother think of his desire to keep this money?

  Feeling ashamed, Josh let go of the notion. No matter how much his family needed it, he wouldn’t do such a terrible thing. He’d done enough wrong in his life; there was no reason to add more to it. He stood, moved to the driftwood, and uncovered the box.

  “What’s that?” asked York as Josh lifted out the wood container.

  “A box full of cash,” Josh said, handing it to him.

  York opened the box, and his eyebrows arched. “Go to the wagon,” he ordered Ruby.

  She dropped her eyes and did as she was told at once. York waited until she’d left, then pulled out a wad of the money and started counting it.

  “It’s over three thousand,” said Josh. “I counted that much before I stopped. There’s more under that.”

  “You counted it?”

  “Not all.”

  York put the bills back in the box and stared at Josh. “You could have kept this secret … and the money all for yourself. Why didn’t you?”

  “I considered it,” admitted Josh. “But … I’m not a man given to thievery, I guess.”

  “But he’s dead,” said York, pointing to the body. “You’d not be thievin’ from him.”

  “But from somebody.”

  York closed the box but didn’t give it back. “We could keep it. The two of us split it half and half.”

  “I’m not disposed to do that,” said Josh.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it belongs to somebody else.”

  “You find any papers on him?” York indicated the dead man.

  “Didn’t take time to search.”

  York quickly checked the man’s pockets but found nothing. “He’s got no papers,” he said, as if expecting it. “So he’s not from any proper authority.”

  “Maybe somebody took his papers.”

  “That’s possible, but we don’t know that. So far as we know he’s a thief himself, maybe a gambler.”

  “Men don’t gamble that kind of money.”

  York spat and grinned. “You don’t know much about gamblin’ if that’s what you think.”

  Josh shrugged.

  “Tell me what you want to do,” said York.

  “We should carry him to the sheriff—in Beaufort or back to Charleston, either one.”

  “And do what?”

  “Leave the body and the money in the law’s hands.”

  York held up his arm. “I’m shot,” he said. “The authorities are likely to believe you and I killed this man, and that I took a wound doin’ it.”

  Josh rubbed his face. York spoke a truth he hadn’t considered. Josh thought about the name the dead man had spoken; he wondered if he should tell York. But then he realized that in a place as large as Charleston, even Beaufort, it might take days to find a woman named Ruth. And what if this Ruth didn’t live there? What if the dead man hailed from Columbia or Savannah or somewhere else Josh had never even visited? He couldn’t just leave The Oak and go traipsing all over the country to look for somebody he’d never met. Besides, if he did do that and actually found the woman, what would keep her from accusing him of killing the bearded man?

  “We should go on to The Oak,” Josh finally said. “Take the body and the money to Mr. Tessier.”

  York laughed. “I’d rather go to Charleston. Tessier’s a rascal. Likely to just keep the money. You know I ain’t lyin’.”

  Josh shrugged again. York said it right. Although both of them worked for Tessier, neither of them trusted the master. “What’s your plan, then?”

  York’s gray eyes sparkled. “I say we keep it. We bury this man right here and split this money right down the middle. Who’ll know the difference? That’s as sensible as anything you said, and you know it, so do I.”

  Josh took off his hat and scratched his head. The temptation reared up again. But he’d already beaten it once, so he put it down a little faster this time. “I can’t do it.”

  York smiled. “I figured on you seein’ it that way, Brother. So I’m willin’ to make it easy for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  York pointed at the dead man. “First, we’ll put him in the ground, as is proper. Then I’ll hold on to the money until I can figure the best thing to do with it.”

  “It’s not yours to hold,” argued Josh.

  Josh saw York’s mean streak rise in his glare.

  “You’re buckin’ me on this?” York challenged.

  “It’s not right,” said Josh. “Bad will come of it. It always does.”

  “It’ll be on my head,” York fired back heatedly. “Nothin’ to sully your lily-white heart.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  York spat tobacco juice i
nto the creek. “Look,” he said, softening his tone. “I don’t want us to get at each other over this, but at least let my arm get better. We go now, and the law’ll get suspicious real fast. You know I’ve had some rough dealin’s there. I take a dead man in, and I’ll get the blame for sure. You don’t want that, do you? How’11 that do any good?”

  Josh wanted to argue more, but York’s reasoning sounded solid. If he went to the law, he might get his brother in trouble, and he didn’t want that.

  “Let’s bury him,” said York.

  “Okay.”

  York headed to the wagon, and Josh followed. At the wagon, Ruby raised a questioning eyebrow but didn’t make a sound. York pulled a shovel out and hurried back to the body, Josh right behind him. They took turns digging, York’s face tightening in pain every now and again from the wound in his arm. After burying the man, Josh took a couple of straight, knee-high sticks he found, tied them together like a cross with a piece of cord from the wagon, and stuck the marker in the ground at the man’s head. Then he took off his hat and stood over the grave. “We ought to say a few words.”

  “Go on then,” York said. “You’re closer to heaven than me.”

  Josh looked at the sky, his mind in a swirl. “We don’t know this man, Lord,” he started, “but you do.” He paused over what to say next. He tried to think of some scripture; after all, he read the Good Book almost every day. Then, after a minute, the words of Jesus from John 11:25 rose in his head, and he softly spoke them. “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”

  Josh chewed his lip once, then continued. “We don’t know if this man lived well or not, Lord, but he’s come to a bad end. I pray he made his soul right with you, even at the last moment. So bless him now. Receive him into your strong arms and keep him forever. That’s my prayer for this man we don’t know. In the name of Jesus, amen.”

  Josh and York both put their hats back on as they left the grave and walked back to the wagon. York tied his horse to the back, shoved the money box under the wagon bench, and climbed into the wagon with Josh. Josh took the reins again, and Ruby sat in the rear, her back to them. York tied a handkerchief around his arm to stop the bleeding. A couple of minutes later they reached the main road again. Josh’s mind was still whirling. A couple of miles passed. The afternoon sun continued to bake them.