CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Captain Archibald Walker,” said Luc.

“Finally! Someone I can give some help on,” said Code. “Archibald Walker was sent by President Andrew Jackson himself. Jackson was not seeking re-election and knew he would lose to Grant. Walker was considered a potential future senator despite not having any family or wealth. He’d been a hero during the Civil War, liberating and freeing hundreds of slaves.”

“That could be a reason for him to be killed,” frowned Alec.

“That’s true,” frowned Luc. “If someone down here recognized him, perhaps even someone at Martha’s table, they could have been the one that killed him.”

“How long did he stay here?” asked Gaspar.

“At least five nights that he remembered. He was supposed to catch a boat to Vicksburg, but a storm came in, preventing the ship from arriving on time. If I had to guess, he was supposed to catch it at the old docks north of here.”

“Why would he catch a ship here and not in New Orleans?” asked Whiskey.

“That’s a damn good question,” frowned Baptiste. “If he were here to talk about reformation and development of the ‘new’ South, someone might not have liked what he was selling. They could have sent him this way to catch the ship intentionally, in a more remote location than the docks in New Orleans.”

“Now that would piss me off,” said Luc. “He’s a good man and was trying to do good things.”

“You have to remember what it must have been like here in 1868,” said Faith. “Tensions were still high. People were angry. Slavery had been abolished, though no one seemed to want to listen to that. If that young man was here talking about things that must be changed in order for the government to help the South rebuild, he was in a very dangerous position.”

“I think I’ve found something,” said Code. The screen flashed a notice of a public meeting. “Captain Archibald Walker, on behalf of the President – Andrew Jackson, will hereby hold a public meeting at Thompson’s Mill to discuss the requirements for reformation.”

“Well, I bet that was a popular topic,” frowned Bull.

“He would have been out in the open, on his own, in a city that was still plenty hostile to northern soldiers,” said Luc. “I feel sorry for him. He has no one. He doesn’t remember his parents. He had no wife, no girl. His life was serving his country.”

“Something we can all relate to,” said Whiskey. There was suddenly a glow in the room, and the men all turned, smiling at Martha.

“I thought perhaps I could lend some context to our young man,” she smiled.

“Do you remember him, Martha?” asked Tailor.

“Young man, I remember every person who ever graced my dinner table. He was an absolute delight. Offered to do chores on the property as payment for his meals. I refused, of course. What I admired most was the way he engaged Franklin in conversations. Always asking his opinions about crops, the needs of the area, it was remarkable.

“He was always dressed in his uniform. That was unusual because so many Confederate soldiers in the area still harbored ill will toward the Union soldiers. He wore it proudly, refusing to remove it. There were three other men at the table during those evenings, all businessmen.”

“What kind of business?” asked Gaspar.

“Planting.” Martha stared at the men, then over her shoulder at Franklin, who had joined them. “Cotton and sugar cane, to be specific.”

“Franklin? Did they say anything to you?” asked Faith.

“Nothin’ that can be repeated in front of mixed company, ma’am. Martha, she set ‘em straight right away. Told ‘em if they spoke to me in that way again, they might get a bad potato in their next meal.”

“Did they threaten you, Martha?” asked Gaspar.

“No one threatened me,” she said, jutting out her chin. “They knew how I felt, and I was offering them my hospitality. I will say that they left while the storm was still raging, but I thought they were gone for good.”

“It was almost a month later I found the Captain down near the river,” said Franklin. “We buried him in the family plot. Sent a letter to the president.”

“Did you not call the sheriff? Someone to investigate?” asked Miller.

“No need. He drowned,” said Franklin. “Now, I know you’re gonna ask, ‘am I sure?’. About as sure as I can be. Don’t mean someone didn’t make him drown, but we didn’t know about those things back then. Just thought we’d give him a place to rest here.”

“You did the right thing,” said Luc. “Now, we just need to try and find out who killed him. Aunt Martha? I’m going to need the names of those three other men.” She smiled, nodding at the young man.

“I knew you would.”

“One of our own,” said Alec. “Genevieve Robicheaux. Twenty years old, she was supposed to marry. Her father was the first Raphael Robicheaux.”

“Wait, didn’t she run off and get married?” asked Luc.

“That’s what the family Bible says, but she said she did not. She said she was supposed to marry someone, even had a ring which is gone from her hand. Problem is she can’t remember who it was she was supposed to marry. She could be imagining the whole thing.”

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” laughed Vince.

“Hey, FBI man, why don’t you put those great investigative skills to good use,” said Tailor. Vince laughed, holding up his hands.

“She said Raphael, the original,” he said, winking at Rafe, “remarried a woman from Germany. Apparently, the stepmother was trying to get the father to marry her off and get her out of the house. In fact, they argued about it all the time.”

“She also said that she was ill the weeks leading up to her death. She said that her stomach ailed her, and she couldn’t eat. There was a doctor sent in from the city, but he told her that if she would just become a wife and mother, her ailment would go away. Ignorant bastard,” frowned Lena.

“He might be ignorant,” said Code, “but many doctors in that time period kept logs of their most prominent patients. We might be able to track something down in the archives of the parish or state.”

“You said she couldn’t remember the man she was engaged to. Does she have a description? Anything to help us?” asked Wilson.

“No, she remembered nothing,” said Lissa. “I asked her if she thought the marriage was arranged, but she couldn’t remember.”

“She did talk about a voodoo priestess, Madame Brouvon. I wonder if her stepmother believed in voodoo?” asked Lena.

“That’s a good point,” said Tailor. “She said that her stepmother was difficult to get to know. It sounded like she was trying to make herself useful, helpful in any way that she could, but the woman never warmed up to her.”

“Okay,” nodded Ian. “We’ve got a bitchy German stepmother, a voodoo priestess, an engaged woman who can’t remember who she was engaged to, and another suspicious death.”

“Don’t forget about the doctor,” said Alec. “We need to find that doctor’s journals.”

“I sure wish I knew if this is what we’re supposed to be doing,” said Gaspar, shaking his head. Nine slapped his back.

“Don’t worry, brother. We’ll find our answers soon enough.”