Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel (26 page)

He tucked the wallet under his arm then held his hands out in front, rotating them, palms up then palms down. “You can put the chair down. I’m not armed.”

“Who are you?” she asked, hoping he didn’t hear the quaver in her voice. She must keep her fear hidden. Project the image of total control. Make him believe she was someone he didn’t dare mess with.

The man kept his eyes on her face and raised his right arm until the wallet fell to the floor. He kicked it across the kitchen. “If you look inside,” he told her, “you’ll find a picture ID and my medical license.”

She used one foot to rake the wallet closer, her eyes still watchful. “Medical license?”

“I’m Dr. Timothy Biggers. You’re a patient in my clinic.” He offered her a small smile. “In fact, you’re
my
patient.”

Squatting, she picked up the brown leather square and flipped it open. True to his word, she found an Alabama driver license, issued to Timothy David Biggers. The man in the photograph was better groomed than the one standing across the room from her, but it was the same person. On the opposite side, the promised medical license.

Kat stood up and glared. “How do I know this is real?”

“I guess you don’t. If you prefer, we can stand here until Lettie Ruth gets home from church, then you can ask her if it’s real.”

Her legs buckled and she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, the wallet clutched to her chest.

In three steps Timothy Biggers closed the distance between them. He knelt beside her, and without asking her permission, began the medical routine of pulse taking and shining a light in her eyes. “You’ll live,” he pronounced, as he replaced the penlight in his shirt pocket.

“But you’re not black.” Kat hadn’t expected a doctor working in the east Hollow to be white.

“You’re not white.”

Kat smiled at his response. She found it difficult to equate this rumpled man and his casual airs, with a physician. He resembled a gardener more than a doctor. Tall and lanky, he constantly brushed at the dark hair falling across his forehead. His brown eyes were kind, yet behind the gentle caring, lived a mischievous twinkle.

“Pleased to meet you,
Dr. Biggers
,” she said.

He inclined his head. “Likewise, Miss…?”

“Templeton. I’m Kat Templeton.”

“Well, Miss Templeton, I do believe we’ve covered the social amenities, so you head upstairs and get back in bed.” He gestured to the mess surrounding them. “Soon as I put my kitchen together, I’ll see to our lunch. You like peanut butter and banana sandwiches?”

* * *

Lettie Ruth and Taxi’s pace slowed as the temperature and humidity climbed. They’d already canvassed dozens of streets in the east Hollow, talking to the folks watering their yards or sitting on porches, but had come up empty. She knew her runaway patient was too pretty to be overlooked by any man under the age of ninety. And the women most surely would have sized her up as possible competition. Someone must remember seeing Kat. They just needed to find the right someone.

“There’s one more house up the road a piece,” Taxi said. “Want me to hurry on ahead and see what they got to say?”

Lettie Ruth pulled the pink blouse free from her blue print skirt and flapped the bottom in the air. “It is a miserable day, and I thank you for the offer, but I ought to finish the job I started.”

She pushed down the fear gnawing away at her insides. Kat’s disappearance had rattled her more than she’d let on. Rednecks were a dime a dozen around Maceyville, and Lettie was scared to death her patient would cross paths with another bunch. If they got to her again, she doubted the girl could survive. Or would want to survive.

Taxi fanned his face with his hat. “Lettie Ruth, you got any idea where she’s gone?”

“Her whereabouts is as big a mystery as that Russian satellite circling above our heads.”

He squinted up at the sky. “What they callin’ it? Sputnik?”

“I believe so.” She tugged on his arm until he looked away from the sky. “Taxi, what do you think about Mitch?”

“I think he’s a good man. Yes sir, a good man.”

“And the thing he’s got going with Kat? Is it a good thing too?”

“I don’t got no opinions when it comes to men and women. All I know is he seems mighty worried if all they got between them is a bed sheet.”

Lettie Ruth nodded. “I reckon they share something more than a bed. Me and Timothy been friends for a long time, so I know it’s possible for a Negro woman and a white man to get along.” She grinned. “And me and Timothy sure ain’t got no bed sheet between us.”

Taxi laughed. “Aww, Lettie, please don’t let Dreama know. Shoot, finding out you and Dr. Tim is just friends would break her heart. You know, she’s got all sorts of theories about y’all.”

“Don’t I know. And I’ve heard every single one of them more than once. Between us, I think your woman needs to occupy her time some other way besides minding other people’s business.”

“She does like tellin’ folks what to do. And she spends a heck of lot of time minding my bizness, that’s for sure.” They reached the last house and he opened the rickety gate that separated the yard from the dirt-packed road. “I don’t know the family living here. Do you?”

“While back it belonged to the Basteen’s, but they couldn’t keep up the payments. I never heard who took it over from the bank.”

“Well, from the looks, they ain’t got much pride in the place.”

She agreed. The house badly needed painting and the yard wasn’t anything but a pile of dirt. Come the first hard rain, and the whole thing would turn into a mud hole. A couple of scrawny chickens pecked at the ground, but she doubted they would find anything to eat. Bugs liked to live in green grass, not brown dirt.

Taxi stepped onto the tilting porch just as someone shoved the screen door wide open, nearly knocking him to the ground. He regained his balance and politely removed his hat.

“Get the hell off my property, nigger,” the obese man standing in the doorframe ordered. A mean junk yard dog scowl covered his face. “And take the bitch with you,” he said, pointing to Lettie Ruth.

“Sorry to be bothering you, boss.” Taxi backed down the steps, his eyes glued to the ground. “Friends of ours used to live here.”

“Cain’t you see this ain’t no nigger’s house, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Taxi mumbled. “I can see it sure ain’t.”

“Then git!” Having said his piece, he turned and re-entered the house. A second later the door slammed.

Lettie Ruth and Taxi didn’t linger. They hurried down the road and several minutes passed before either spoke.

“That cracker jackass back there is named Louis,” Taxi whispered, then glanced over his shoulder as though he feared the man could overhear them.

“You say Louis?” The name sounded familiar and Lettie Ruth frowned. It took her a second to make the connection. When she did, a shudder ran through her entire body. Kat had said the one doing all the biting was named Louis.

Taxi nodded. “Yep. I heard him and the other two bragging down at Bubba’s. The fat one back yonder,” he jammed his thumb over his shoulder, “is a real mean sumbitch.”

Lettie Ruth stopped and turned back to face the house. “You got any names for the other two?”

“Honey, you and me both know you ain’t gonna be able to do nothin’. They is white. Nobody never pays no mind to what they do, least not in this town.”

“Maybe it’s time someone paid some mind,” Lettie Ruth said.

“You’re startin’ to talk like Dreama and that kind of talk always kicks up a whole mess of trouble.”

“Trouble or not, I don’t see myself letting this one pass. No woman should be thrown in with a pack of worked up males like a bitch dog.”

He glanced nervously at the house, then tugged on her arm. “We can’t be standing here gawkin’, he’s bound to be watching us out the window.”

Lettie Ruth sighed. “I know, Taxi, I know,” she said sadly. “I’m just so tired of the way things is down here. I’m beginning to think Dreama’s right.”

“Right about what?”

“About changin’ things in Maceyville. About it being time for us Negroes to get treated like human people.”

“It’s been that time for a long time, Lettie. But if Dr. King can’t keep folks worked up, you and me ain’t gonna see nothin’ new.”

“You know those protests planned for Birmingham? Alvin told me he personally signed up more than fifty from Webster Avenue Methodist alone.”

“Yeah, I’m planning on goin’ to one or two myself,” Taxi said. “You on the list for Palm Sunday?”

“Dreama took care of that.” She shielded her eyes and pointed at the dust cloud down the road. “Somebody movin’ our way mighty fast.”

Taxi didn’t hesitate; he grabbed Lettie Ruth around the waist and flung her into the drainage ditch. Half a beat later he flopped beside her. They ducked as the white stake-bed truck rumbled past sending a storm of pebbles and dirt raining down on them.

Lettie Ruth peeked over the edge of the drainage ditch. The pickup skidded to a halt in front of the last house. Two men got out and stomped up the porch. After a second the door opened and they went inside.

She turned to Taxi. “Are those the other two?” She didn’t have to hear for his reply, the tight wad in her gut had already answered.

“Uh-huh. That’s Floyd with the black hair. The other one, they call Little Carl. He’s got a strawberry mark on his face.” He climbed out of the ditch first, then reached down and hauled Lettie Ruth onto the hard packed shoulder of the road. “I think we ought to be movin’ along. This road’s a bit crowded,” he said.

“Let me get straightened out first.” Lettie Ruth brushed at her blouse, but the dirt, combined with the sweat soaked fabric had turned her clothes into caked brown layers. She gave up on the blouse and worked on her shoes. Balanced on her right foot, took off her left shoe and shook the gravel and loose soil free. Then reversed the process. Engrossed in her grooming activities, she failed to see the white truck pull away from the house.

Taxi, likewise occupied with the gravel in his shoes, also missed the action at the end of the road. By the time they were alerted by the rattling pickup it was too late for a stealth getaway. All they could do was to jump back into the ditch, then claw and scramble up the other side.

“Gotta get into the corn,” Lettie Ruth panted. If they could reach the field then they might have a chance. It was still early in the growing season, but there’d been enough rain and warm days for the corn to be knee high. And that should be tall enough to discourage the truck from driving into the field.

At the edge of the corn they took off down different rows, running zig-zag patterns. The men would be carrying shotguns or rifles, and they didn’t want to make easy targets.

Thirty yards into the field Lettie Ruth tripped over a rock, sprawling face first on the ground. The fall knocked the wind out of her and it took several precious seconds to get back on her feet. Unable to draw a deep breath, the best she could manage was a slow trot. She shot a glance over her shoulder. The men weren’t far behind. She heard their shouted threats and the laughter.

Three rows over, and several yards ahead, she saw Taxi moving fast. His knees pumped so hard they nearly hit his chin with each step. He had a good lead on the men and with her help could get away. Lettie knew if they caught her she had a fair chance of coming out of this alive. But if they got a hold of Taxi, it would be a death sentence for sure.

So Lettie Ruth stopped running and turned to face her pursuers.