“More of the treacle pudding, Mr. Cawdor?” Natalie Davenport asked from the other side.
“No. No, thanks.”
Once she’d turned away, Chris Akemoto continued. “Remember me? Why should you, Mr. Cawdor? I was a child of eleven years old when my parents were butchered and Trader came into my life.”
“Your parents were chilled by Trader? Or by his people from the war wags?”
Akemoto shook his head. “No. No, you misunderstand me. I’m obviously not making myself plain.”
“I thought that’s what you meant.”
“No.”
“Where was all this? Gives me a decent clue to hang a memory onto.”
“My mom and dad ran a small grocery store out near Memphis. Little ville called Yesteryear. One of the postnuke villes. They had some hard times and grief, being from Oriental stock, but all that passed. Me and my brothers and sisters learned how to give back better than we got, and gradually things became all right. Became good.”
“This rings a small bell. Wasn’t there some kind of rebirth of the Klan?”
Akemoto placed a hand on his arm and Ryan noticed that the young man was trembling with emotion. “That’s it! You remember. It started in the east. Some said they came from old Georgia. But they were intent on riding off anyone who wasn’t a white Anglo. They came to Yesteryear.”
All around them, the meal was coming to an end. Spoons were laid on empty plates and Nicholas Brody rose to his feet, clapping his hands for silence, offering a quick prayer.
“There will be tea in the staff room, Mr. Cawdor, if you would care to join us?” Natalie suggested.
Chris leaned across. “I promised to show Mr. Cawdor the grounds after supper. Before full dark. But I’ll bring him back in fifteen minutes or so.”
IN THE EVENING COOL, alongside the limpid water of the lake, he carried on his story.
“My parents wouldn’t move and most of the good folks in the ville supported them. Until the night ofof the burning. Trader had arrived, and your war wags were camped by a creek a half mile west. He’d bought plenty of provisions from our store.”
It was seeping back to Ryan. A well-stocked general shop, run by a couple of friendly Orientals. And lots of kids running around helping to fill the big order for the wags.
“The Klan came that night,” he said. “And they burned you out. I remember. Your parents were shot and their bodies thrown in the flames. And you kids escaped by”
“The storm cellar of the Reverend Mr. Dexter. True Christian. We heard Mom and Dad’s screams. I still hear them.”
They walked on in silence, while Akemoto regained control.
“The leaders of the Klan made a big mistake. They thought Trader would be on their side.”
Ryan grinned. “Big error. Nothing Trader hated as much as hatred. The Imperial Wizard, or whatever he was, rode up the next morning, bold as brass with a dozen of his thugs. Asked for help in finding you kids. Said” He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he struggled for the memory. ” ‘We got the mongrel and his bitch. Might as well clean out the whole litter.’ ”
“And Trader hanged him,” Akemoto said. “Him and all his crew. From a line of live oaks by the creek.”
“I remember.” Ryan saw in his mind’s eye the row of kicking, strangling corpses that gradually became still, heard the squeaking of the new hemp ropes above the bubbling of the stream. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Then Trader took a day off to rebuild the store for us and left a hatful of jack to restock it. Place is running still, with my older brother and two sisters there. Any time you’re near Yesteryear”
“Thanks, Chris…. Can I call one of my son’s teachers by his first name?”
“Sure can. What I wanted to say, swinging down all the years, was Thanks.”
They walked back to the brightly lit school through the gathering gloom.
Chapter Twenty
Mildred browsed around the first floor of the isolated house, while Krysty slowly climbed the stairs.
“We’ll only have a quick look,” she said, pausing halfway. “Best get Doc and the others up here as soon as possible. Before dark. Start a fire and we can all have a really good, warm, secure night.”