Chapter 4

As time went by Lucinda became accustomed to being a maid, dishwasher, laundress, cook, floor scrubber and any other dirty job the Colonel could find to add to her misery. Barbara kept her promise and the two women made life uncomfortable for the Colonel, that is, anytime he was at home.

One day the Colonel came into the house drunk and screamed “Barbara . . . what the hell have you been doing with the money in our account?”

“It takes money to run this house hold,” she said with a shaky voice. She feared he had found out she had been transferring money to another bank. So when she did leave him, she would have ample funds to live on.

“You have taken over forty thousand dollars out of our account,” he screamed “now I know it don’t take that much to run this house. So what did you do with it?”

Lucinda was not in the house at the time, she was at the market with Chris shopping for new cloths for the lad. When they returned the Colonel started to scream at her.

“Where did you get the money to purchase cloths for Christopher?”

“Miss Barbara wanted him to have some new one, cause he’s growing so fast.”

“Now I know where you have been getting money for all the nice clothes you wear. Barbara has been giving you money all along hasn’t she? Or have you just been stealing it.”

“You ask Miss Barbara,” she said as she backed up to get some distance between them.

“She’s not here . . . she’s gone . . . for good,” he said as he approached her. She looked around for a way to safety. He grabbed her by the arm and struck her with his fist and she was knocked unconscious. An hour later she regained her composure and went in search of Barbara. She was not to be found in the house, stables, barn or any other place. That night she waited for her to come home. Even the next day she wondered where her mistress could be.

The Colonel had all of Barbara’s clothing and personal effects packed in trunks and removed from the house. He said they were taken to the train station in Baton Rouge and placed aboard a train.

Two days later when none of the other servants were present, she demanded from the Colonel “Where’s Miss Barbara?”

“She’s at the bottom of the swamp,” he said with a chuckle “you give me any more trouble and that’s where you’ll be too.” He then laughed an eerie laugh.

A cold shiver proceeded up Lucinda’s spine. She knew no one would believe her if she was to repeat what he said, so she kept quiet. The Colonel, when anyone asked about his wife, would tell them, she had run away with another man. Everyone knew he was a rather distasteful fellow, so they thought no more about it. Then again, those in authority in the parish were either his relatives, or on his payroll, so none of them were going to investigate her disappearance. In the meantime the Colonel hired another woman to run the house hold. This was a kindly woman, but very strict in the way she wanted things done. Her name was Dolly Motts.

Robert Lee was given a party on his fourteenth birthday. The Colonel was making with the merriment and had been drinking heavily. He said out loud “I love giving my son a party for his birthday.”

Lucinda, helping with the festivities, when she overheard his words said “You never gave your other son a party for his birthdays.”

The Colonel rose from his chair and ran across the floor to grab her by the hair of her head and dragged her into the next room. He slammed the door shut and threw her onto the floor. He locked the door and tossed the key across the room. She jumped to her feet and desperately tried to find a way of escape, but this room, his study, had only the one door; being an inside room it had no windows. She was now trapped with a mad man at her throat.

“You bitch,” he yelled. His fists went into action as he pounded her face and body. Blow after blow she received as he beat her with out mercy. When she fell, he would pick her up and beat her some more until she fell again. Each time he would reach down, grab her, and jerk her up, only to knock her down again.

The other guest decided the party was over and everyone quickly withdrew from the house and out into the front yard. Most of them started for their homes. Dolly ran to the locked door, when she could not turn the knob, she beat on the door with her fists. “Let me in,” she screamed.

One of the party guests was a doctor’s son and he had been accompanied to the party by his father. The Physician now sprang forward trying to get the door open. “Stand Back,” he shouted at Dolly. She stepped aside and he threw himself against the door. When it didn’t budge the first time, he hit it again, but it still would not open. On the third try the door jamb split in the lock mortise and the door flew open.

The Colonel was throwing another series of blows when the Doctor and Dolly came to Lucinda’s aid. The doctor pulled him away from her limp body laying on one of the tables in the room. The Colonel jerked himself away from the physician and crossed the other side of the room. The medical man now turned his attention to the injured woman. Colonel Weston went to the liquor cabinet near his desk and poured himself a tall glass of bourbon then drank it down in one gulp, only to pour another and repeat the process.

Chris came into the room to see about his mother. He stood beside the doctor as he worked with her. Soon the physician ceased what he was trying to do and cursed under his breath. He took the towel he had been using and covered the woman’s face. He looked up into the eyes of the young man standing beside him. “I’m sorry Chris . . . she gone.”

Chris stood there looking at her for a few minutes. Dolly came and tried to get him to leave, but he pushed her away and refused to leave. He reached out and took his mother’s hand and gently kissed it then laid it across her body. He turned around and slowly walked to the splintered doorway. He stood there looking back at the man who had just taken the life of the last person he rightly could call family. Barbara was gone, as were Chris’ grand parents. This man was responsible for the murder of his mother. The rage began to build in his young mind. Who was going to stop this monster?

At his left elbow was a large cabinet where the Colonel kept his guns and knifes. The guns were kept under lock and key, but the knives were displayed behind an unlocked glass door. He selected the large bowie knife and placed it behind his left arm and next to his body to shield it from view of every one in the room. He then moved slowly across the room. When he was at arms length from the Colonel, he moved the knife to his right hand, blade exposed in front of him. Molly saw the knife and screamed “NO CHRIS.” The Colonel, looking up and seeing his charge, made a swiping motion with his right hand trying to deflect the large knife, but Chris managed to drive the knife all the way to the hilt into the Colonel’s stomach. Chris then turned loose of the handle to leave the weapon lodged where he had just placed it.

The doctor came running when he saw Chris with the knife; however he was too late to prevent the lad from using it. The Colonel looked into the doctor’s eyes when he came to his aid. He moaned with the pain. “Pull it out,” he said.

“When I pull it out . . . you’ll feel a sudden rush in your guts and a few seconds later you’ll be dead.”

“Leave it in,” he screamed “I don’t want to die.”

“Neither did Lucinda.”

“Do something,” moaned the Colonel.

“As you wish,” the physician took hold of the knife and they looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds. “Goodbye,” said the doctor and he jerked the knife free. The Colonel gasped as the knife was withdrawn. He clutched at the wound as he expired. The doctor pushed him back into a chair.

§

“I’m the Parish Prosecutor,” said the tall well dress man standing before several men in the jail section of the court house “and there is no way we can get a conviction from a jury.” His hand was on Chris’s shoulder who was seated in a chair at a table.

“Well what are we going to do then with the lad?” asked the sheriff. “Colonel Weston was a very influential man.”

“If we put the lad on trial the jury won’t convict him . . . so why even bother.”

“Judge Weston wants to hang the lad,” said another.

“He can just want . . . but the lad is not going to be put on trial . . . not by me anyway.”

“We can’t just let him go free . . . not after committing murder . . . and it’s the lads own father to boot,” roared the sheriff.

“Look at it this way . . . if we put him on trial . . . a jury filled with Colonel Weston sympathizers and they convict him . . . the Cajun’s will riot . . . if on the other hand we put even one Cajun on the jury they’ll vote to acquit, or it’s a hung jury.”

“Well we can’t just keep him in jail,” bellowed the sheriff.

“Just turn him loose,” said another man coming into the crowded room.

“Who are you, sir?” asked the sheriff.

“Allen Jackson, Attorney at law,” he said “and I represent the lad.”

“He killed a man,” bellowed the Sheriff.

“I have known the lad and his family for the past sixteen years and I have known the Weston’s as well,” he said making his way to Chris. He bent down and spoke in the ear of the lad “Let me do all the talking. Don’t say a single word . . . you understand?” Chris looked into his eyes and nodded. “In all that time I would have to say, Colonel Weston was not a man at any time . . . a tyrant would be more precise.”

“But someone has got to pay for the death of the Colonel,” pleaded the sheriff.

“That’s right,” said Allen “Colonel Weston himself.”

“What?” asked the sheriff “How’s that?

“I have here in my pocket,” he pulled out a folded paper a ‘Writ’ from Judge Parker . . . his ruling is that the death of Colonel Gregory Weston was justifiable and therefore no one is to be tried in his death.” He handed the paper to the sheriff. He then turned to Chris and said “Let’s get out of here.” They both left the Jail section of the courthouse. A cab was waiting outside which took them a few blocks to the office of Allen Jackson. Once they were inside the office, the attorney said “I have been watching you and this whole mess for several years now, at the request of Barbara Weston.”

“You know where she is?” Chris asked.

“No . . . I don’t . . . I’m afraid she may be dead,” he said lowly “she disappeared shortly after you and your mother went to live in the home of the Weston’s. Barbara Weston retained me as her lawyer. She wanted me to handle the transfer of money, from her hands to a bank account in Kansas City. The funds were placed there in the event that she would be able to leave her husband safely. However, she has not, or cannot come forward to claim those funds. She also placed those funds in the name of your mother and yourself. So you’re in fine shape . . . money wise that is.”

“You mean I can with draw the money Miss Barbara put there?” he asked.

“That’s right” it’s yours . . . to do with what ever you wish, the only restriction is that you can only with draw one thousand dollars each year, then when you reach the age of twenty one you may take it all out . . . that is . . . if you wish.”

“How much is there?”

“Forty Thousand Dollars,” he said.

“Some how . . . it don’t seem right?”

“Now, about the charges of murder against you . . . Judge Parker’s ruling can be over turned by a higher Court. However if you are no longer in the State of Louisiana when it is presented to a higher Court, they will more than likely dismiss it all together.”

“So what you are telling me . . . is to leave the State of Louisiana.”

“The sooner you leave the better.”

“I have to attend mama’s funeral . . . then I’ll leave.”

“You can’t take the time. The older sons of Colonel Weston will be here tomorrow,” said Allen “They may want revenge, so you better leave now.”