Dragged by the Soul of Her Feet

Mature themes, physical threats, discussions of murder, abduction, issues of race, discrimination, and rude language.

Henrietta gripped her husband's arm, Stanley, as they approached the eastbound train platform's steps. It was much that she felt the perspiration under the palm of her hand and alongside her arm, feeling the slightly dampened fabric of his blazer.

Said aged thirtyish Stanley, "when will you be convinced? I am taking this time off to see Dad."

She replied, "I'm still trying to believe you'll take your mind off your work while you're away."

"What promises have I broken to you?" He asked. "I didn't fight in the great war of wars on your request."

They reached the last step and took their seats at the nearest bench, opposite a young colored soldier who fiddled with his Sentinel 247B radio dials. 

"It was on the mayor's request," Henrietta answered. "I read the newspaper article Suffolk County required some lawmen to stay home rather than be filled with machine gun bullets in Europe."

"I didn't go because of you, honest."

"Honey, let's not argue next to this GI."

Stanley gave acute attention to the black military man in his olive attire, absorbed in his activity, to hear a Robin chirp. The officer showed agility in handling the device because his left arm and hand were missing by the indication of the folded, safety-pinned sleeve.

"Agreed," said Stanley. He glanced at his pocket watch. "The war is over, Hitler is dead, and my train should be arriving. Or at least we should hear it coming."

"That won't happen in a while, sir." Said the soldier. "They announced on the speaker that it came 19 minutes early due to unexpected maintenance. I missed it, too."

Henrietta's face reddened. She fisted her hands and pounded her knees. Stanley placed his hands over hers and rubbed them.

"Sweetheart, I'm the one who ought to be upset. I'll catch the next one," the detective reassured the wife. "Soldier, do you know when the next one is coming to Montauk?"

"Not too long, 45 minutes, mister."

Henrietta said, "For sure, I'll forego Glady's tea party."

Stanley wrapped his arm around Henrietta's back, and his hand tenderly latched to her right shoulder. He placed his finger at the bottom of her chin and turned her head to him.

"Henrietta, please attend Glady's function. I'll be okay." Stanley softly urged, squeezing her shoulder.

"For this time. I believe you." She addressed the soldier, "make sure my husband gets on that train, won't you?"

"Yes, madam," said the military man.

She kissed Stanley on his cheek, stood up, and left. He felt uncertain about how to say a short-term goodbye to his spouse. But Henrietta didn't pause to hear it.

The spring breeze blew a newspaper page snagged in its wrinkles onto the bench arm of Stanley's side. He released it into his hands and smoothed the printed page with photos. The date was Thursday, May 3rd, 1945. On page eight was a picture of his father's long-time neighbor, Mrs. Stalwart. 

When Stanley visited, Mrs. Stalwart, on occasion, nagged him about his father's household concerns, the Nicky-picky stuff. The headline read, "Missing Montauk Woman." On Tuesday, the aged widow somehow obtained their home phone number and requested the adult son's attention. He was busy, and Harriett would not let her speak to Stan. It was true; Stanley was to visit his dad soon, and he did not fancy her annoyance.

Dad must be worried, Stanley thought. He often checked on her since Mr. Stalwart passed away.

……

Stanley granted the soldier the window view because he did not want the scenery to keep him awake.

"Sir, thanks for helping me with my suitcase." Said the military man.

"Nothing to it. After all, you guaranteed I would board this train." Stanley said to him, "officer, call me Stan; what's your name?"

The soldier twisted his body, using his remaining arm to shake Stanley's hand.

"My father named me after the prophet, Daniel," said the military man. "I'm no divine foreteller, but I hanker after his brightness, intelligence."

"Ah?"

Daniel explained, "he was brilliant, full of wisdom, loaded with abilities. The godly man was a government official who cared about his people."

Coming at Stanley's side, the conductor had his hand out, and his other set of fingers held a Bernard ticket puncher. "Tickets, please."

Both male passengers searched through their available pockets for the requested paper items. Daniel found his first and extended it to the conductor.

"Here you are, sir."

The conductor placed a scolding stare direct at Daniel, causing him to look away in some undue sense of shame.

"Soldier, what's the problem?" Asked the conductor, "you're supposed to have your ticket ready beforehand."

The trainman in dark blue punched Daniel's ticket and handed it back to him. 

"My apology, sir," expressed Daniel. "It will not happen again."

Stanley was still searching.

"I am ever sorrier. I made it disappear and will make it reappear." Expressed Stan.

The conductor patted Stanley on his shoulder with a jaunty grin. "Mister, don't fuss about it; take your time. I'll be back."

The conductor left to other commuters requesting their tickets. 

Stan whispered, "I'm going to fuss." He resumed evacuating his pockets.

"Pardon me, what was that Stan?" the military man inquired.

"How did you lose your arm, may I ask?"

"It's a long, complicated story, fellow. You wouldn't want to hear it."

Flashed like wallpaper against the inside lining of his sport jacket pocket, Stan found the ticket and rose from his seat.

"I got the time. Let me hear when I come back." Stanley channeled down the aisle to the preoccupied conductor.

"Excuse me, train man, can you punch it?"

The man in dark blue rotated to Stan with his jovial leer. "Your patronage is honored, thank you." He clicked the ticket and returned it to the detective. 

……

"In the trenches, I lingered for a commander to give us clearance to move out. We did not see the German. He tossed a grenade at the foot of my fellow soldier. I ran and kicked it away like a football from him." Said Daniel.

"It exploded," wondered Stan.

"Just a flicker of a second before I covered him with my body. The pieces of metal cut into my side, mostly my arm, and tore its tissue."

"You're a hero."

Daniel sank his head into a depressive position and turned to view the outdoors.

"You a Caucasian, believe I am? After my hospital discharge, the family of the man I have almost given my life for invited me to visit them in Mississippi."

Daniel's eyes moistened, his face registering a mixture of sadness and resentment.

"I take it the stopover did not favor well. Dan, do you wish to talk about it?" Asked Stanley.

"One day, I will have to tell someone."

The conductor stepped by each aisle seat, announcing, "West Hampton, next, West Hampton, after it, Quoque."

"Go ahead, soldier, disclose to me the kind of reception they provided you." Said Stan.

"It was none." Daniel continued, "when I stepped off the train, they hooded my head on the platform. I was yanked into a vehicle."

Tears flowed from Daniel's eyes. He wiped them with his right arm. Stanley removed a cleaned hanky from his jacket pocket."

"Please have it," said Stan.

"Thank you. Those men brought me into a forest and removed the hood. I saw a pack of angry, pale men. An older man drew close to me against a tree; he pressed his rifle under my chin."

Daniel took a few breaths before speaking again.

"He threatened me, 'Hear me, negro, if you dare ever say you saved my son's life, yours will be stolen. Don't disgrace us again. Understand?"'

"I am sorry, Daniel, horrible madness. Many of us are not like those bigoted animals."

"I am aware. I'm not crazy to believe all white folks are demons. But deep down, Stan, it inflicts me worse than the explosion."

……

"Stanley, please wake," Daniel shook his arm.

His eyes are sluggishly unfastening from an interrupted nap. "Is it my stop?"

"We passed a fright, Stan. It saw it out the window." Said Daniel.

"Are you telling me what it is?"

"In a flash of a few seconds, the train surpassed an opening of trees. In it, I saw a pair of rosy shoes on a woman's feet. Lined drag marks in the soil like someone hauled her."

"Give me the type of shoes. Was she wearing a dress?"

Daniel paused and pondered.

"She was wearing overalls, dark denim like Levi. Short, white socks, her skin pink epithelium like the woman sitting across us. That's all I got."

Stanley's face reddened with alarm, "what sort of red shoes?"

"Those were like leather clogs, or maybe, suede, I'm not too sure."

The detective's hands overlaid his face. He bowed his head. "Oh, God."

"You know something about what I said to you?" Asked Daniel.

"A lot, soldier; I must get off the next stop."

……

Stanley leaned forward, twitching his fingers on the front bench of Southampton train station. His eyes were glued on the dark-colored man speaking inside the nearby telephone booth. Daniel finished, exiting the folding doors of the phone booth, nearing Stanley.

"He's on his way; my auntie said, coming from the reverse where he was supposed to pick me up."

"Daniel, you think your uncle's willing to drive to Quoque, where you sighted the incident?"

Daniel answered, "if you inform him of the same dilemma you told me, his heart might tick."

In robust mechanical health, a Ford 81C truck, a late 1930s model, rides along the sidewalk in the station's front. It slackened as it coasted to Daniel. The driver recognized him, waving his arm out the window. A well-seasoned African American man with silver pepper hair exited a glimmer green-paneled door. He came around and embraced Daniel, took the soldier's suitcase, and swung it inside the rear bed.

"Come on, Dan, your aunt's juicy fried chicken is waiting. And why did you hop off two stations before? You have a girl here?"

"Uncle Phil, this fellow has an emergency. We need your help." Daniel gestured to Stanley, who appeared ashamed.

Phil folded his arms, becoming greatly disturbed at the sight of Stanley, who found it challenging to gaze directly at the truck driver.

"The enemy who arrested your cousin and locked him up in prison. What's your predicament, policeman?" Phil addressed Stan. "You seek another black man?"

"Mr. Sterling, a jury convicted your son in a court of law," explained Stanley. "I performed my job based on evidence. Your son confessed; I'm sorry."

Phil jolted and entered his vehicle. "Daniel, let's go."

Daniel came to his driver's side.

"You must support us. Stanley's sister is in danger. I witnessed her abduction. Take us to the area where I saw it, please, uncle."

"Why didn't you contact the police? Don't they assist their own?" Sparked Phil.

Stanley neared Daniel from behind, slowly pacing toward Phil's side.

"You're confident they'll see your nephew's testimony as anything except gobbledygook? Those bolshie insolences kill other people as well as black persons."

Phil opened his window and patted the side of his door, ordering, "hurry, you two get in the truck and point the way."

……

"Daniel, it's a good thing you saw the track milepost number," Said Phil. "Otherwise, we spend days wandering around these trees. Hey, wait a minute, team."

Phil bent down behind the thick foliage and rose with a cerise-colored clog loafer in his weathered hand.

"Is this your little sister's shoe?"

Stanley became almost paralyzed seeing it. "Phil, yes, don't move. Let me rummage around you for clues."

"Detective, you want to fish around here." Said Daniel, "Where the earth has been disrupted, and the trees and bushes harassed."

Stanley and Phil move toward where Daniel is, and he tells them, spreading his left arm forward.

"It's our old Indian ways, uncle," Daniel said. "Here, the ground feels solid. From over there, it felt sedated, moist as if it was uplifted and placed back."

Daniel showed them how the foliage was broken and placed over softened earth.

"Help me remove these branches and things." Requested Stanley.

He found her leather-twisted wristband.

Daniel kneeled and shifted his hands to the earth, and Phil followed suit.

"I feel her heartbeat, and she's here, Stan." Said Daniel.

"She's buried underground. My Lord, she will suffocate." Exclaimed Stanley.

Stanley dug his fingers into the soil, grabbing chunks and throwing them feverishly behind him.

Phil expressed, "detective, dig next to me; it is shallower; it feels wooden underneath. Come on."

Daniel joined them; the men dug diligently, clearing the outline of a rectangular wooden case. Phil rushed to his truck to snatch his crowbar.

"Stand clear, men."

Phil stepped a top of the case, bent his lean, muscular body, and brutally broke the hedged lock off it. The men swept open the cover, and there was a comely, short-haired young woman, one barefoot, one socked. Her face was that of a foreign country girl. She was wet with sweat through her clothes and unconscious.

"Betsy." Stanley cradled her in his arms and lifted her out as the other two assisted in lying her face up on the grass.

"She's not breathing," Stanley stressed as he tapped her face. "Lord, please don't take her away from me. No."

Daniel guided Stanley aside, and he administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

"Stanley, do you perform CPR? Her chest needs compressions."

He didn't voice an answer and began the procedure on her chest after unbuttoning her blouse.

Betsy's cough bolted right into Daniel's mouth. He rotated and spit. She coughed in succession before unsealing her eyes. Stanley clasped his dirty hands on his crown in excelling joy and tears.

She peered at Daniel's face, whispering, "beautiful, so fetching a black man." Betsy stretched her fingertips to outline his jawbone.

Daniel allowed Stan to come and embrace his sibling. They cried in each other arms, stroking their backs.

"You come for me. They killed daddy and are waiting to do the same to you." Betsy sobbed uncontrollably.

"Soldier, can you contact the police with your Sentinel radio?" Asked Stan.

"It's worth a try," Daniel answered.

……

Twilight fell, and the lights illuminated Stanley's father's house on the southern curve on South Elroy Drive. The drapes were closed, but a lady's figure passed by them as a silhouette. As he approached the front door, Stan recognized the female representation. It was apparent by her hairstyle.

The door was unlocked, and he entered, proceeding to the living room. In the sofa chair, his father's favorite, Harriett sat with her legs crossed, her cold eyes fixed on Stanley, and her pistol aimed directly at his heart.

"You took your time," she said, "and missed your dad's and sister's farewell party. He retired with fishes, and she's kissing maggots."

Stanley stared at her and paced the room side to side with his fists on his hips. Her hand securing the firearm lined his steps like a meter.

"I squared by her house; where is Mrs. Stalwart? If you're aware." Stan inquired.

"Don't worry about the nosy geezer."

"Three innocent persons. What have you done, Harriett?"

"Why haven't you determined I married you for your father's inheritance?"

Another familiar face came behind the sofa chair, a tall, suited man the same age as Stan. The detective knew him as a gangster, in and out of prison.

"Hi-de-ho, punk, I'm back in business." Gustavus Castrillo's tongue slickered, "the last time your team captured me, what did I say?" 

"You vowed to extinguish me and take what's mine," Stan answered.

"It started well; I've been relishing a fling with your wife," Gustavus crowed.

"It's your realization, Stan," said Harriett, "why I was deadly bored with you."

Gustvas tottered close to the detective's face, inches away.

"Glory me, I took your pappa and sis, and you will personally relinquish your father's estate before you die." He stated.

Stanley laughed.

"Both of you are fools. My father donated most of his assets to my mother's family in Sweden during the war with Betsy's and my blessings." Stanley said.

Harriett raged, "You failed to communicate with your wife before making decisions, jackbutt cop."

She stood up. "Gustavus, step aside for me to puncture out his lights."

Harriett felt the edge of a two-barrel weapon pressed against her back.

"Drop it, or I'll blast your kidneys in front of you." Said Phil.

The baritone vocal signaled her obedience. She released the revolver to the chair cushion.

Before Gustavus could react, Stanley flicked a small pistol out of his pocket and jabbed it under Castillo's mid-ribs.

"Good news, snake; this might be the final time I apprehend you." Said Stan. "I won't wait a lifetime while you rot in the big house."

In the background, red and blue lights flashed through the front windows. The sirens can be heard throughout the house.

"Just for you, Harriett, I invited some guests. Maybe you can host a tea party in jail. Sounds nice?" said Stanley.

Harriett's vocals blistered, "dang nabbit, Stanley."

……

A while after the law enforcement officers left the estate with their suspects, Phil and Stan sat in the truck in the driveway.

"Phil, thanks for everything." Stanley paused, "your son was apprehensive, acknowledging he acted in self-defense. I'll urge the district attorney to investigate the case."

"Thank you for that, Stan. It means hence much to us." Said Phil. "My oldest boy's a treasured life."

He impressed the detective, "Return to my house. I worry your sibling is fixed on stealing my nephew."

"Halting her won't be a piece of cake. My father sort of cursed her." Stanley expounded. "He told Betsy she'll be set with the man who rescued her."

"Yep, that's a complication. At least come by for my wife's apple pie and ginger tea. And I'll bring you back here."

"Sounds sweet; I'll accept."

End