Markers (Joshua Stokes Mysteries Book 3) (15 page)

“Let me get this straight,” Joshua said gruffly. “My mother went nuts and was sent to a sanitarium when I was little - How little?”

“You were just a wee tot… two or three years old.”

“How long did she stay?”

“Almost a year, Watauga,” Margie’s voice was sad.

“Is she still there?”

“I do not think so… you would know if she was.” Joshua stared at Margie Redfeather a moment, wondering what she meant.

“She disappeared when you were about to become a man-we would know if she was alive, Watauga. We would know,” Margie’s tone was serious. “That is why you sought me out - you could feel my life force-we share the same blood…”

“Why didn’t my father or grandfather tell me of my mother’s illness?” Joshua asked, seeming to ignore her defining of their relationship, their bond.

“I cannot answer those questions, Watauga, only your father and grandfather - I will ask them when we meet in the afterlife.” Joshua looked at Margie; she had her eyes and hands raised toward the heavens.

“It’s a crying shame that people forego telling the truth in order to try and protect other people’s feelings!” Joshua was angry, but his anger was not directed at Margie. After hearing all of that, Joshua had more questions than ever before… He worried that he may never find the whole truth about his mother. His thoughts went to Vivian Bradley. He wondered if she knew of this and neglected to tell him in order to protect his feelings… he intended to find out. He would pay Vivian a visit and confront her with what Margie had told him.

“Dwelling in the past cause’s one to avoid the future,” Margie spoke as if from far away. A sudden clap of thunder shook the foundation of the small house. Joshua jumped at the loud intrusion. “It comes this way,” Margie said before she began chanting. She was again staring upward, her hands raised toward the ceiling. She began to speak words that Joshua did not understand - her prayer sounded as if in her native language or maybe she was speaking in tongues as they did at church when he was a little boy; her eyes stared heavenward. The sound of his pickup pulling up at the house took him to the front stoop. Hook and the girl were back, but he could tell by their hurried actions and the expressions on their faces that something was wrong.

Twenty-Four

Freak of Nature

When Hook and Betty Sue jumped out of his truck, Joshua could tell something had frightened them; both were glancing over the house as they collected two bags out of the back of the truck. Betty ran past him, yelling ‘Gamma, we gotta go’ as she did.

“What’s the matter,” Joshua asked Hook, who had not noticed him standing on the porch while they were getting the supplies off the truck.

“Come and see for yourself, Hoss,” said Hook, with a southwestern nod of his head.

Looking over the roof of the small house Joshua saw that the storm he witnessed earlier had grown tremendously. A thundercloud that must have been at least twenty miles high rose forebodingly on the horizon. The massive cloudbank was roiling, twisting, and turning as it moved swiftly toward them. Joshua noticed two small tendrils that swooped in a downward spiral. “Looks like a tornado sprouting,” he said, “Several of them.” Joshua quickly stepped inside; Hook was right behind him.

“We have to get them to safety; us too somehow,” Hook said to his back as he walked past him and set the bag of groceries on the table. “This one here ain’t nothing to play around with, Hoss. It’s not like that little dust devil we stopped in a while back, this here is the real thing. I haven’t seen a real tornado in a long time…”

Betty Sue was trying to get her grandmother to stand up beside the bed, but Margie ignored her; she was still praying. Her head was still tilted toward the ceiling, but her eyes were rolled back and she was jabbering fervently in the strange language. Betty Sue was becoming frantic. Joshua grabbed her by the arm and asked if they had a storm shelter on the property that they could get into.

“No, Sir, but there is a crypt in the cemetery that we have used before; It is thick-walled and safe. If we can get Gamma to it in time, we would be safe there.”

Joshua felt the floorboards vibrate and heard the windows rattle with the rumbling of the storm. He grabbed the wheelchair from the corner of the room and opened it as he rolled it to Margie’s bed. You could see the cemetery from Margie’s house, however, he knew that the wheelchair would not roll easily roll across the dirt field that separated the two. “Come help me, Hook,” he said over his shoulder.

As James held the chair, Joshua picked Margie slightly up off the bed and swirled her into the chair. “Come on” he said, as he rolled the chair out the back door and down a ramp to ground level. He quickly looked for the storm; it was practically overhead. “Where’s Betty?” he yelled, when he saw that she was not with them. Margie had not broken stride; she was still in fervent prayer. James turned to go back inside to look for Betty Sue, but she came out the door toting a duffle bag just as he turned around. “Run and let down the tailgate,” Joshua instructed James, who done as asked. They picked Margie up, chair and all, and rolled her up to the back of the cab.

“Drive us to the cemetery, Hook. I’ll ride back her with Margie.” Hook did not argue, he got behind the wheel and cranked up; Betty was already in the passenger seat. Joshua turned his attention to the storm, which was directly overhead. He could not tell whether the funnels he witnessed earlier were still there or not until they were on the dirt road and the house was not blocking his view. There were now three funnels protruding down from the miles-wide storm cloud. Joshua knew the tornadoes were dangerous, but he also knew that if they joined and became one gigantic twister that it could be even more devastating for those on the ground.

The sudden turn of the pickup into the drive of the cemetery nearly threw him off the back. Fortunately, he had a death grip on the wheelchair and the bed of the truck that kept him and the praying Margie, firmly grounded in the bed of the truck. They came to a sliding halt at the gate-Betty Sue jumped out and opened the larger gate and they drove through into the cemetery. She ran ahead and showed James where the crypt was that they used for a shelter. When the truck stopped, Joshua rolled Margie to the end and jumped down off the truck.

“Sorry about that, Hoss. I didn’t mean to turn in so fast, but I nearly missed the driveway trying to look back at the storm.”

“It’s alright; help me get Margie down and to a safe place.” Once they had Margie and Betty Sue safely tucked into the tomb, Joshua and Hook both stepped out to watch the storm. Each lit a cigarette and took a long draw.

“Look at that damn thing, would you,” said Hook exhaling a cloud of smoke. “The funnels are joining together - ain’t they?”

“Looks like it - I was afraid that would happen. Its headed straight at us, which means it’ll cross the Interstate and be headed straight toward Atmore.”

The bottom of the storm cloud was so low it looked as though, it was nearly touching the ground. As they watched, a funnel suddenly dropped down and picked up what looked to be a small bush of some sort and sucked it up into it. A minute later, both jumped backward when a large chinaberry tree suddenly dropped into the field between the cemetery and Margie’s house. James whistled, and then muttered several explicit words. He then sucked down a lungful of nicotine and said, “You can stay out here with that freak of nature if you want to, Hoss, I’m going in there.”

James went inside the vault but not Joshua; he lingered near the door watching the storm. He knew if he went inside his claustrophobia would be a problem, but he did not want to go inside and would not, unless forced to do so by the storm. The powerful storm fascinated Joshua-storms always did. A sudden boom of thunder shook the ground; he heard a rock or something hit the ground. He loved thunderstorms, hurricanes - the sudden rush of wind when the tree fell out of the sky had brought the smell of rain to his nostrils. He inhaled the air around him, smelling for the different aromas it carried with it.

Small pellets of ice began hitting him in the face instead of the rain that he had expected. At first, the bits of ice were small, almost like sleet, but then began to get bigger and bigger. Joshua stepped back under the archway into the vault for protection. The hailstones pelting the ground were now the size of golf balls… Fascinated, Joshua watched as an angels wing was torn from a statue by the ice rocks that shattered into pieces as they landed on the concrete slabs and flat granite grave markers. He saw a quick flash of light; it was immediately followed by the sound of thunder-an agonizing, ripping through the clouds sound that surrounded him and sent a thrill through his body. It shook the ground so violently, that a headstone next to where he stood toppled over against the tomb. The time had come; he stepped further into the vault and closed the door.

When he turned around, Joshua saw that the tomb was roomier than what he had pictured in his mind. There was even an oil lamp hanging on a bracket at the back of the room. A small window was also to the rear; it was missing one pane of glass; the opening supplied a little fresh air. He immediately went to the window and looked out it, but it was so dark that he could not see much at all. The thickness of the walls dulled some of the sound and they were not sure exactly what was happening outside. When his ears began to fill with fluid, Joshua rushed over and cracked the door open.

“It’s close! Y’all hang on to something, anything, each other if that’s all you can find to hang onto.” He figured that by opening the door it would let the air flow through instead of imploding the structure - at least, that was his hope. The brunt of it, lasted maybe a minute, but felt much longer. During this entire rush to cover and watching the storm, Margie Redfeather had not let up with her prayers-but as soon as the storm passed, she opened her eyes. She stared at them for a moment and then asked how she got there. Betty Sue took her hand in hers and told her that the sheriff and Hook helped them.

“I think you were in some sort of trance, Gamma. You never stopped praying.”

“It’s been known to happen,” Margie mumbled. “Now take me home, Nephew,” she ordered. Joshua was not even sure her house still stood, but from the conviction in Margie’s voice felt it would still be there, and when he stepped out and looked in that direction, the little house was still in one piece. The top of the giant sycamore had been twisted out, but other than that, he did not see any other damage. Not even a shingle appeared out of place.

After loading Margie in the back of his truck and going to the house, they discovered that there was a little water on the floor in front of the windows that remained open during the storm and in front of the back door, which in their hurry they had neglected to close. They were all surprised to see that the window fan was still in the window and had not been sucked out into the storm.

“It’s just a little water,” said Margie “God’s way of purifying the earth and everything in it. Get the mop bucket, Betty Sue,” she said with a grin.

Joshua’s truck had taken a pounding. There were dents in the top, the hood, and all along the fender walls, but the glass was intact; that in itself was a miracle. Standing at backdoor, looking eastward, he saw the back of the storm - it looked just as menacing from the back as it had the front. He was glad it was gone from there, but hated to see what it might do to the town, which was more densely populated.

“You reckon we gonna be able to get out of here to get home?” Hook asked.

Joshua could see that Hook was worried, but he did not see any real need to. “Yeah, we’ll take the back roads down to the next entry ramp to the interstate if we have too; it really shouldn’t be any problem at all though. Only roads and buildings in the path of the storm should be affected.”

“I’m glad
you
feel so positive about it,” Hook responded. He had his doubts.

When the window fan suddenly spun to life, they all jumped. Margie and Betty clapped, and Joshua and Hook felt good about leaving them since all seemed well. Joshua had not forgotten his talk with Margie - he was anxious to get home and start digging through some more records. He wondered how to go about requesting forty-year-old patient records from a mental institution. Surely, they would not still be sealed.

“You will soon find what you seek,” Margie told him as he was leaving. “Prepare to accept what is, Nephew. Accept it and move on,” she said firmly.

On the way home, he was quiet as he mentally prepared himself to try to do as Margie Redfeather advised. Accept whatever it was and move on… His ability to have done so most of his life was probably the only reason he had not gone nuts…

Twenty-Five

Collections

As a minimalist, Joshua had never been one for collecting or holding onto things - at least not at his home. At best, the only thing he collected was music. He figured that for the most part, whatnots and things like that were just good for collecting one thing, dust. The less you collected and had in a home, the cleaner it stayed. However, he knew it was necessary to collect records of important events and other happenings; they needed to be held onto for future generations to have access to older information. The records room at the courthouse probably had what he needed. It was dusty as hell, but held numerous collections of important records associated with the county and had a wealth of information on its residents, both past and present. If what Margie said was true, the ‘Involuntary Commitment’ files from Probate Court records of the 1920s and 30s were the ones he needed to look through, if he was to find more information on his mother.

As he drove toward town the next morning, Joshua had plenty to occupy his mind. He had taken care of, as best he could, the paperwork for the ill-fated Lita McIllwain and her departure from this world. All he could do for little Anna Leigh was to hope that her family raised her well and told her everything about her mother… Driving into town, his mind was primarily focused on his mother - he also had Vivian Bradley on his mind. He intended to pay her a visit before leaving the city. If his mother had been committed several times, Vivian ought to know something about it. When he thought back to the last time he saw Vivian, she had seemed anxious to talk, but he was not in a talking mood and had simply dropped off her photo album and left. He regretted he had not stayed and talked, but hindsight is always 20/20.

He hoped Sandy had found something in the records that would help him. When he called her the day before, he had told her just to check the records for Annaleigh Touart or Stokes from 1920 - 1940.

His stomach felt queasy as he drove into the parking lot at the courthouse. Before he exited his vehicle, Joshua reached under the seat and pulled out the bottle of whiskey. He took a long pull on it, capped it, and put it back. Almost immediately, his stomach settled and he felt better. He raked his fingers through his hair, straightened and tucked his shirttail, then wiped his boots off on the back of his jeans one foot at a time. He probably should have taken the time to shave before he drove in, but was too anxious to look through the files.

When he walked in, Sandy was filing her nails and chewing bubble gum. She had just blown a huge bubble when he stepped through the door. She sucked it in with a loud ‘pop’ and grinned.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she winked. Joshua could not help but grin; and although he ought to be used to Sandy’s flirtatious manner, he felt himself blush under her gaze. “I sure was surprised when you called yesterday afternoon and asked little ol’ me to search those records for you.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes too, Sandy,” he smiled again, trying not to come off as stiff. “You’re the most efficient person I know; I knew if anyone could find them, it’d be you.”

“That’s awfully sweet of you to say! I’m just glad to have something worthwhile to do. It takes talent to file your nails as much as I do and still have some left,” she chuckled as she waved them in the air.

“Have you ever thought of working with John Metcalf in the Crime Scene Investigation Department? He would be lucky to have someone like you.”

“Gosh, I haven’t ever given it a thought… Honey, I can look up records all day long, but there is no way on earth that I could look at actual dead people with blood and shit-whew, I’d pass out in a heartbeat!”

“Nah, you get used to it after a while.”

“I don’t think that is something I’d want to get use to. I can’t even watch a critter give birth without fainting - once, while I was visiting my grandfather, one of the patients cut his finger on a sheet of paper and I passed out cold!”

“How is your grandfather doing; any improvement in his condition?”

“Aw, it’s so sweet of you to ask, Sheriff,” Sandy exclaimed. “He knew who I was when I went for a visit last weekend; Honey, I was tickled shitless,” she grinned widely, “I can tell you, that don’t happen very often these days - he was talking about stuff that went on when he was a detective on the force and all sorts of stuff - just like he use to.”

“That’s great - maybe he’s improving”

“Uh uh, Sheriff,” Sandy shook her unruly mop of hair in the negative. “They say there’s no such thing as improving with old timers, just good days and bad days, and then, eventually, it’s just bad days… I dread when that time comes…”

Joshua did not know what else to say as far as encouragement. He had hoped to one day speak with Sandy’s grandfather about the missing persons files he had so painstakingly organized after his retirement. If they meant that much too him, he would have been a wealth of information on those cases.

When she saw the disappointment on Joshua’s face, Sandy said, “I know you wanted to talk to him about those cases, the next time I go, and he is at himself, I’ll give you a buzz and you can come over and talk to him; how’s that?” she grinned.

“Sounds like a plan, I appreciate that, Sandy. Was you able to find anything in the records I asked you to look through,” he asked and suddenly, with a wave of nausea, Joshua’s queasiness returned; he leaned against the counter to steady himself.

“Are you okay, Sugar, you look a little peaked,” Sandy’s voice quivered slightly. “Remember that conversation we just had. I got a mouth; I can holler and get you some help, but other than that, I ain’t much help if you throw up or pass out.” She chuckled nervously while getting up to get several folders out of a file cabinet.

“I’m fine; I probably need to eat something.”

“That’s for sure,” Sandy said, matter-of-factly, as she turned back to face him. “You’re gonna get a case of the ‘gone ass’ if you lose anymore weight. I think I found what you were looking for, Hun,” she said, laying some folders on the counter. “There were two forced Commitments filed against Annaleigh Touart Stokes (adult) both filed by Jefferson D Stokes. There was one commitment levied by the state against Anna L Touart (a juvenile) while in the custody of the State of Alabama Dept of Welfare. It mentions the Episcopal Church - Home for Orphans-”

Joshua did not hear anything else that Sandy said. The thing about his mother being committed while in the orphanage surprised him. He wondered why Vivian did not say anything about his mother being committed while in the orphanage - surely, she knew what had happened. He reached for the folders, took them and then said, “Thanks Hun.” He turned and walked out without saying anything else.

Sandy shook her head in quiet contemplation. It was not like the sheriff to appear as lost as he did when he took the folders. She popped a fresh piece of bubble gum into her mouth and began to chew. She hoped he soon
overed
whatever was bothering him and got back to his usual charming self. She knew from the names on the files that this was
personal
for him, but every family has skeletons in their closets; sometimes they pop out quickly, but oftentimes, they go undiscovered for generations…