The Chronicles of Marr-nia (Short Stories Starring Barbara Marr) by Karen Cantwell Page B

shoulders.
    “What are you talking about?”   Flora’s voice trembled.   “Who would want to kill Mr. Witherspoon?”
    “The Southern Avenger, of course,” Marjorie said.
    “The Southern what?” Rosabelle asked, soaking in every bit of information thrown her way.   It was a stroke of luck for her that this conversation should arise now.   She could weed through truths and untruths later, but the current situation required her to take in everything.
    “The Southern Avenger is what they are calling him.   He’s killed five men already.   All of them Northern sympathizers and traitors who put slaves before the needs of the South.   Rumor has it that Eli Witherspoon will be next.”
    “Why?” Rosabelle asked.
    Mrs. Franklin lowered her voice and squinted her eyes.   “He was a slave sympathizer during the war.   He helped many escape from their owners.”
    Some of the women, obviously unaware of this rumor, grew wide-eyed and covered open mouths with their hands.   Others, who must have been privy to the scandalous gossip, nodded knowingly yet disapprovingly.
    One of those women was Anna Cameron.   Seeing Rosabelle’s confusion, Anna took great satisfaction in sharing her own prized information.   Moving her face close to Rosabelle’s , she whispered.   “The word is that he loved a Negro girl who was killed transporting escaped slaves to the North during the war.   Can you imagine?   A man of fine, southern breeding keeping with Negroes?   If you ask me, he has it coming.”
    “I think we should let God be the judge of that,” Rosabelle said.   “Unless the Lord has passed responsibility for judgment on to you, Anna.”   The room became as silent as a tomb.   “Now, has anyone ever seen this Southern Avenger?”
    The women looked around at each other, then many shook their heads.
    “So it is not a matter of any known fact that this killer is a man and not a woman?”
    More heads were shaking to answer no.
    Rosabelle felt as if she was getting somewhere.   “Mrs. Franklin, tell me please, when did Lucy first come into your employ?”
    “Early last week . . .” the hostess answered more quietly than usual.
    “Do you remember the exact day?”
    “Why, let’s see . . . let me think . . . what exactly does this all have to do with Mr. Witherspoon?”
    “The day, Mrs. Franklin.   Please, it could be important.”
    Mrs. Franklin stared into the distance while counting on her fingers.   She tapped her forehead once, which must have worked some miracle, because then she offered an answer.   “Tuesday.   I think.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Well . . . yes.   Yes, I am sure.   I remember.   She came to our back door Tuesday morning looking for work after the Pattons had turned her down.   I had just come in need as we will be entertaining a house full of visitors from England soon.   I learned of the visitors on Monday evening.   Yes.   It was Tuesday.”
    Rosabelle was making progress.   “So she had been trying to obtain employ in the Patton household?   Where Mr. Witherspoon now resides?”
    “Yes.”
    “And does anyone know when the last murder occurred?”
    “Oh!   I know that one!”   The recently married Sarah Pike shot her hand into the air like a schoolgirl bidding anxiously to answer a teacher’s question.   “My husband knew of this man.   They found him dead in his Manassas farmhouse . . . last Monday afternoon!”
    Rosabelle grabbed Flora’s arm and dragged her down the hall, leaving the group of befuddled women to whisper among themselves.   Rosabelle heard Mrs. Franklin mumble something about “that odd girl.”
    “I am so confused, Rosa ,” Flora sputtered.   “Tell me, please.   What is happening?”
    “Remember that newspaper story about Abigail Dawes, who was a spy for the South?”
    “Yes!   We were just speaking to Mr. Witherspoon about her.”
    “And her favorite disguise was . . .”
    “A Negro woman!”   Flora stopped just short