Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

a little creak. “Damn thing needs oiling. Can’t McNaughton do nothing right?” John mumbled. He peered up the lane for what seemed the one hundredth time. Nothing except the occasional rabbit. He clicked open the gun. Six bullets. The first for McNaughton. The second for…for…No. It couldn’t be Cleveland. Maybe, he’d go after Annalaura next. Bullet number two for her. But what about the baby? Sure, it looked as white as snow, but could he really put a bullet into a baby? The gall swarmed up again. Aunt Becky had told him to swallow seven times quick when that happened. It hadn’t worked at all today, but now was not the time to start retching again. He swallowed four times before he let loose with one dry heave. He snapped the gun closed. Snap.
     
     
    Clop. Clop. The gray made the turn with very little direction from Alex. “Where the hell am I going to sleep tonight?” Alex asked out loud. Not with Eula, for sure. He’d make himself a pallet in the pantry. He smiled. Tonight was as good a time as any to get used to sleeping in the little room. Clop. Clop.
     
     
    The sound came at him like a heavy hailstorm. Clop. Clop. A horse. McNaughton’s horse. John leaned into the buckboard wheel. Creak. In the darkness, he could see no figure, but sure as hell, that was McNaughton. As his eyes strained at the pathway to the house, his brain told him to sort out the order. Quick. First, McNaughton. Second, Annalaura. Third. Who? Which of his children would he have to kill next? Not Cleveland. Not that soon. Doug? Oh Lord, no. That was his smartest child. He’d make something of himself one day. Then it had to be Lottie. Lottie? His only girl? Sweat poured off John. His hand felt slippery against the butt of the gun. Clop. Clop. Good God. There he was. A horse and rider. Decide. Decide now. John leaned into the buckboard wheel. Creak.
     
     
    What was that? Alex pulled up on the red reins. Sounded just like that creaky wheel on Eula’s buggy. What was she doing out here at this time of night? Clop. He slowed the horse ’til the gray barely moved. Alex pulled out his gun.
     
     
    Sweat swarmed down John’s forehead and into his eyes. He had McNaughton in his sights. His finger stroked the trigger. One little squeeze. That’s all there was to it. One little squeeze, and good-bye to a no-good, rapin’ white man. She rose up out of nowhere, or from that place Becky called “beyond the pale.” Annalaura’s face with a body that looked made of rippling water popped into his head and would not move away. Worse. The figure blocked his view of McNaughton. John’s gun hand shook as he stared at the thing Becky called a ’Parition. Some Cherokee women possessed it—a force as strong as fury that took hold of them and pushed their will into another person’s head. Once it was in there, no power on God’s earth could make it leave until the thing got good and ready. Even so, John jerked his head hard. Anything to make the Annalaura ’Parition go away. The vision that chilled to the soul wouldn’t budge. John took his gun hand and swiped at the image clouding his eyes. No good. He leaned into the wheel to look around the thing. Creak. There was just no getting away from Annalaura.
     
     
    Creak. Alex pulled up on the horse. He leaned forward and rested the side of his face against the gray’s neck. Something was out there. Could be a coon. Could be a possum. Best not to take any chances. He let up on the reins, and the horse ambled toward the barn.
     
     
    Annalaura’s mouth moved, but she still shrouded John’s target. Then, like a hammer dropping down on a nail, the ’Parition called out the names of their children. Cleveland. Doug. Lottie. Henry. Oh, Lord. He’d forgotten all about little Henry. He’d have to kill him too. The ’Parition moved closer, and with a force stronger than he’d ever known the flesh-and-blood Annalaura to show, the thing that looked like the woman he loved pushed him back from the wheel. Whatever it was dropped to the ground and got hold of his feet. It pushed them backward and away from the wagon wheel. To keep from falling, John reached out a hand to steady himself against the side of the barn. Two more steps and he’d be behind it, out of sight of anyone coming to inspect the buckboard. He dug in his heels, flailing out. The ’Parition grabbed his gun hand and jammed it against his chest. A force stronger than a mule pushed him behind the barn, and out of sight