T.J. Laverne

Copyright © 2019 by T.J. Laverne

 

Chapter 1

 

Maggie ripped the flyer off the telephone pole and held it up to her face, scowling.

 

Some people are born to be a burden on the rest.

 

She stared at these words for at least a minute, then ripped off another flyer from below it. On it was a drawing of a tree with a banner displaying the word, Eugenics. And then: Eugenics is the self-direction of human evolution.

 

Beneath it, written across the tree’s many roots were a variety of words: religion, education, economics, ethnology, geography, mental testing, archaeology . . .

 

Maggie crumpled up both papers and stuffed them into her handbag. She turned around, but no one had seen her. The third piece of paper attached to the telephone pole was an article cut out from the local newspaper, The Democrat.

 

Maggie frowned. It was a picture of Christopher Dufort, the newly elected Natchez mayor, shaking Hugh Bannon’s hand. Bannon had spearheaded a new organization in town: the Natchez Eugenics Society.

 

Beneath the photo was a caption. Maggie’s eyes fell upon a quote from Christopher Dufort:

 

“Undoubtedly, the prisons and asylums would be empty if only my kind had children. The sole aim of the Eugenics Society in Natchez will be in producing a better generation for a better America, weeding out those less-desirable traits as are passed along by inferior individuals from inferior backgrounds and races, like feeblemindedness, low IQ, poverty, alcoholism and female promiscuity.”

 

With a snarl, Maggie ripped the article from the telephone pole, crumpling it with the others.

 

Behind her was the newly erected crown jewel of the city: the Eugenics Building. It sat on the corner of Franklin and North Canal Street, just down the road from the grain shop, Lee and Sons. The location had been chosen strategically. The speakeasy, Alfie’s, had long since been driven away.

 

There were at least ten more flyers and posters plastered across the façade of the building. Displayed on a large bulletin board by the road was a science experiment labeled: Color Inheritance in Guinea Pigs. Rows of black and white clay guinea pigs were lined up across the board, displaying the different types of offspring that were produced from the different colors breeding with one another.

 

Maggie’s hand curled into a fist at her side. She wasn’t sure how long she stared at the display before she noticed someone standing beside her.

 

With a jump, she turned to see a tall, dark and handsome man with a delightful five o’clock shadow, holding a stack of books. He didn’t look at her, but was staring at the guinea pig display with a dangerous glint in his eye. His hands tightened around his stack of books until they began to shake.

 

“Ridiculous,” he said. “Do they think we don’t know they’re not talking about guinea pigs?”

 

“What are you doing around the Eugenics Building, Mr. Hart?” Maggie narrowed her eyes.

 

He lowered his head as if she had just struck him.

 

“Haven’t we been down this road before when you suspected me of murder?” he turned to her. “And please call me Donk.”

 

The lilt of his Australian-flavored accent never failed to catch her off-guard, reminding her that he was not from Natchez. Donk wasn’t really his name, it was a nickname which meant “renegade” or “outlaw.” Maggie wasn’t sure how he had earned the nickname. His real name was Lewis Hart.

 

She hadn’t seen Donk for several months and was a little startled that he was suddenly standing beside her, as though he had materialized out of nowhere. She had forgotten how handsome he was. Her sister, Ivy, had often teased her that Donk had carried a torch for her. The recollection made her face heat up. Maggie had never trusted him well enough to encourage him.

 

She scowled at him, but he just smiled back at her. She turned away, unable to hold his gaze. His eyes were deep pools of dark chocolate that one could fall into, the same shade as his hair. And his smile had a disarming quality that she had once been impervious to. It had been several months since she had seen it, however, and her defenses had fallen ever so slightly.

 

She adjusted the collar of her coat and stood up straighter, shaking off the feeling spreading up her neck.

 

“You deserved it, though,” she scolded. “If you’d just told me that Sasha and your servant were romantically involved, the heat would’ve been off you much sooner.”

 

Donk sighed, prompting her to look at him. He looked oddly weary, as though someone had just beaten him up. He wasn’t as put together as she remembered him.

 

“I couldn’t, Miss McGivney,” he said. “I had hoped she was still alive. I had to keep her secret for her. It wasn’t mine to tell.”

Maggie pursed her lips and turned away, unwilling to admit that he had a good point.

 

“What are you doing around here?” he asked her.

 

“I was at the post office sending a letter to my sister,” she adjusted her collar again. She wanted to add, “not that it’s your business,” but she restrained herself. It was a little soon to be so rude.

 

“We shouldn’t stand here,” he said suddenly. “Someone’ll see us from the window and think we want to talk about their bleedin‘ science experiment.”

 

“You don’t have to stand here,” she started, but to her annoyance he took up her arm and pulled her away. “I beg your pardon, but how do you know I was even walking in this direction?”

 

“Because I was watching you from across the street and saw that you were,” he averted his eyes.

 

“Are you following me?”

 

His eyes twinkled at her as the hint of a smile reached his lips. “Would that make you like me more or less?”

 

“Less.”

 

He looked away, his smile quickly fading. “Then no, of course not.”

 

Maggie made a face as they crossed the street and made their way for the brown line that was the Mississippi River. Apparently, Donk already knew she was headed home.

 

Maggie looked up at the pale sky and pulled the sleeves of her coat over her wrists. It was early March, 1925, and still fairly cold, though that would not keep her in the house. It was much too empty. She had fancied taking a walk by the river, but she wasn’t about to tell Donk. She didn’t want him joining her.

 

They walked together in tense silence for some time, down Franklin Street and South Broadway. There weren’t many people out in the cold, so the silence was more pronounced and noticeable. For some reason, Donk didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation with her, but rather walked beside her in a moody silence.

 

She caught glimpses of him from the corner of her eye every now and then. He wasn’t at all his usual over-the-top, charming self as she remembered. His arm was stiff and tense, not relaxed and careless as she had expected. He had always conversed so easily with Ivy. There was none of that easiness or familiarity with her.

 

She had wondered why he had made no attempts to visit her since their murder mystery had been solved several months ago. Now it was obvious. Ivy had been wrong. He had never liked Maggie. Perhaps he had been sweet on Ivy the whole time, instead, and was grieving Ivy’s recent marriage to Wyatt.

 

As sisters, the only things Ivy and Maggie had in common were their auburn hair and their height of 5 foot 2 inches, although Maggie styled her hair in finger waves while Ivy looked fashionable without having to do anything to it. Ivy had all the personality and conversed easily with people, making them laugh and generally breathing life into every party. Maggie didn’t know how to talk to people and was usually deemed a snob or a bore.

 

“What’s your problem?” she finally asked him, unable to stand the silence any longer.

 

“What do you mean?” he said quickly.

 

“You’re not talking.”

 

He cleared his throat and looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Oh, sorry.”

 

Maggie lifted an eyebrow. “I can walk myself home, you know. You don’t have to walk with me.”

 

“I know you can, but I’d like to escort you,” he said, finally looking at her. “It’s been too long since we’ve met, you and I.”

 

Maggie looked away, scowling. She caught another side-glimpse of him to see that he had returned to his moody silence.

 

“Am I catching you on a bad day?” she persisted. “Did you lose a fortune at a game of cards?”

 

“I don’t gamble,” he said, a smile creeping back to his lips.

 

“Oh,” she turned away, thinking. “Did you drink too much last night?”

 

“I only drink too much when you’re forcing it down my throat to get me to confess to murder,” he smiled wider, his eyes twinkling again.

 

Maggie sighed, feeling unnerved and annoyed. “Your Tuesday night girl canceled on you?”

 

“There’s no Tuesday girl,” he said suddenly irritably. His eyes flared alarmingly for a quick moment before they returned to normal.

 

“All right,” Maggie said carefully. She swallowed, feeling strangely hesitant to ask her next question. “Do you miss someone?”

 

“You have a lot of questions,” he shook his head, forcing another smile.

 

Maggie felt her heart sink inexplicably to her stomach. He hadn’t answered the question. Which meant that he did miss someone. Her sister.

 

Donk cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. A line of sweat had developed along his brow. He looked oddly anxious about something.

 

“How’s the reporting going?” he asked, noticeably changing the subject. “I see you’ve still got a knack for interrogating.”

 

Maggie pursed her lips. “Clearly you don’t read the Fayette Chronicle.”

 

“Actually, I do,” he looked at her seriously. “That’s why I asked. I hoped you were still working for them.”

 

Maggie suppressed her surprise that he read the Fayette Chronicle and felt her temper spike at the mention of the paper’s name.

 

“Supposedly,” she bristled.

 

“Oh,” he said. She felt his arm stiffen around hers. “I didn’t mean to upset you by bringing it up.”

 

They walked in tense silence for another couple of blocks. Maggie noticed him catching glimpses of her every now and then and she fixed a neutral expression on her face.

 

“Are they refusing to print your stories?” he asked, an unmistakable note of curiosity in his voice.

 

“Clearly, if they aren’t printing them,” she snapped.

 

Donk fell silent again for another length of time. “I thought your uncle worked for the Fayette?”

 

“He does, but he’s the editor, not the owner. He only has so much power. And the idea of printing news stories written by a female is still considered inexcusable to most men.”

 

“They’ll change their minds about that, sooner or later,” he said with a strange note of confidence. “You could make anyone change his mind, I have no doubt.”

 

Maggie looked at him, unsure what this comment was supposed to mean. He threw her a cockeyed smile and she looked away. He cleared his throat again. They walked another three blocks in silence.

 

“I hear you’re working for Alcorn College, now?” she decided to break the silence.

 

“Yes,” he watched his feet as he walked. He looked suddenly glum. “I took Sasha’s position.”

 

“Oh. Teaching English?”

 

Donk nodded but didn’t elaborate. Another length of silence.

 

“Do you miss your sister?” he asked.

 

Her head jerked unintentionally in his direction and he raised his eyebrows at her in surprise.

 

“Yes, of course I do.”

 

“Where are they now?” he asked. His tone was conversational, but Maggie thought it was a little forced.

 

“Santorini,” she said, feeling suddenly dreadful. She felt Donk’s eyes on her again and she turned her face away, blinking suddenly rapidly.

 

Ivy and her childhood friend, Wyatt Mortimer, had been married in a modest ceremony on January 14th after years of flirting and hopeless pining. They had departed for their honeymoon in Greece shortly after, and Maggie had been alone ever since.

 

Silence overwhelmed them again until they reached the end of the driveway to Hemswell Hall. Donk stopped, looking down the length of the drive. It was framed by an archway of gigantic oak trees leading to the enormous white mansion, surrounded by massive pillars on all sides. The trees were depressingly bare this time of year. It was one of the rare times the sky could be seen above the canopy.

 

Maggie craned her neck. There was a Renault sitting at the end of the drive, parked in front of the house. She didn’t recognize it.

 

“I’ll take my leave here,” Donk said, glancing shadily at the Renault.

 

He bowed his head to her, taking her hand in his and kissing it. Maggie swallowed against something in her throat.

 

“Be careful, Miss McGivney,” he said suddenly earnestly. “Natchez isn’t the nice place it once was.”

 

“Well, I may not be in Natchez much longer,” she said on a whim. She wasn’t sure why she had said it. She had often thought about leaving her home town, but had not taken it very seriously.

 

“Why?” he asked, his eyes flashing with alarm.

 

She shrugged, tugging her coat around her shoulders. “Natchez doesn’t have anything to offer me anymore. Maybe a newspaper somewhere else would print my stories.”

 

They stood in silence another moment as Donk frowned at her.

 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he finally said.

 

He took up her hand and kissed it a second time. Maggie bowed and turned, making her way down the long driveway.

 

“Miss McGivney,” he called. She stopped and turned around. He shifted his feet. “Could I—could I call upon you sometime?”

 

Maggie stared at him a minute, her brain not giving her an idea of how to answer.

 

“You may,” she finally said, to her own shock as much as his.

 

Donk smiled widely and for a moment he looked like his old self. He bowed his head again, but didn’t turn to leave, so Maggie turned and continued down the long drive. She felt like he was watching her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look.