Read Online Biggie and the Quincy Ghost by Nancy Bell - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy Bell
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back.”
“Some were,” Lucas said, “but the map he gave them was to show them the way to the Indian Territory, which was no more than fifty miles from here. On a good horse, a man could make it there before sunrise. Then he could disappear into the wilderness. Many of the runaway slaves ended up merging with the Indian tribes, others found their way into Missouri or Kansas where some became cowboys, some joined the Union Army.”
“Hosiah Tilley was not a gentleman,” Hen Lester said.
“He met his wife in a saloon over in Shreveport, is what I heard,” Miss Mary Ann put in. “She was common.”
“Where in the hotel did he hide the slaves?” Biggie wondered.
“Nobody knows,” Lucas said. “The law searched the place over and over again, but never found a single black soul.”
“And he never, ever wore a coat and tie, even at his papa’s funeral,” Hen Lester continued. “And they say his children ran the streets like little savages.”
“Still, he was a good man,” Alice said, popping a piece of pie in her mouth. “Now, let’s let the boy tell us about the ghost.”
I told them about hearing sounds in the next room and about how I thought it was someone crying, so I went to check it out.
“Was it a woman—or a child?” Hen Lester wanted to know.
“I don’t know, a woman, I guess,” I said. “Anyway, when I went in there, I couldn’t see anything. Then it went away.”
“Well, don’t worry, son,” Alice said. “Old Lucy’s been walking these halls for over a hundred years, and she hasn’t hurt anybody yet.”
“Idabel and Cloyd Johnson were the social leaders in town back in Lucy’s day,” Hen Lester said. “They were the first to entertain her and her husband—a costume party, I believe it was …”
“No, it was the Hawkeses,” Lucas corrected her, “and it was a garden party.”
After that, the conversation got really boring. They kept on talking about how it used to be in Quincy—and they told it just like it had happened yesterday. If you ask me, these people were weird. They discussed things that had happened fifty or a hundred years ago as if they were current events. I finished my sandwich, ate a piece of cherry pie, then I asked to be excused. When Biggie nodded, I left the table and went out into the lobby where I found Brian sprawled across one of the sofas holding a copy of Texas Monthly , but he wasn’t reading it; he was staring into space. I saw a tear roll down his cheek.
He looked so depressed, I thought I’d cheer him up, so I asked if he liked fishing.
“What? Oh, yeah, sort of. I used to anyway.”
“Where do you go?”
“Caddo Lake, mostly. They’ve got catfish as big as an alligator under some of those cypress logs.”
“Man! You ever catch one?”
Brian swung his legs around and sat up to face me. “No, but I saw one once. Annabeth’s uncle caught it. They had him tied to a tree limb. He was as tall as a man with a head as big as a dinner plate.”
Seeing as how I’m serious about my fishing, I wanted to know more. “Golly, what’d they catch him on?”
“Oh, you can’t catch those babies on a hook. You’ve got to dynamite the log. That stuns the fish and you can shoot him in the head with a .410.”
“Did they cook him and eat him?”
“I guess,” Brian said. “I wouldn’t eat it, though. Catfish are bottom feeders. The meat mostly tastes like mud unless they’re farm-raised. Those bayou folks eat them though. They’ll eat anything.” Brian was beginning to look depressed again. I guess he was thinking about Annabeth being bayou folks herself. Suddenly, Brian swung his head around. There stood Emily Faye, just inside the door listening to us talk. “Why don’t you just get lost?” he said.
Emily Faye put her fist to her mouth and ran back down the hall.
“Don’t you like her?” I asked.
Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t like her, or dislike her,” he said.
I wondered if I should tell Biggie
“Some were,” Lucas said, “but the map he gave them was to show them the way to the Indian Territory, which was no more than fifty miles from here. On a good horse, a man could make it there before sunrise. Then he could disappear into the wilderness. Many of the runaway slaves ended up merging with the Indian tribes, others found their way into Missouri or Kansas where some became cowboys, some joined the Union Army.”
“Hosiah Tilley was not a gentleman,” Hen Lester said.
“He met his wife in a saloon over in Shreveport, is what I heard,” Miss Mary Ann put in. “She was common.”
“Where in the hotel did he hide the slaves?” Biggie wondered.
“Nobody knows,” Lucas said. “The law searched the place over and over again, but never found a single black soul.”
“And he never, ever wore a coat and tie, even at his papa’s funeral,” Hen Lester continued. “And they say his children ran the streets like little savages.”
“Still, he was a good man,” Alice said, popping a piece of pie in her mouth. “Now, let’s let the boy tell us about the ghost.”
I told them about hearing sounds in the next room and about how I thought it was someone crying, so I went to check it out.
“Was it a woman—or a child?” Hen Lester wanted to know.
“I don’t know, a woman, I guess,” I said. “Anyway, when I went in there, I couldn’t see anything. Then it went away.”
“Well, don’t worry, son,” Alice said. “Old Lucy’s been walking these halls for over a hundred years, and she hasn’t hurt anybody yet.”
“Idabel and Cloyd Johnson were the social leaders in town back in Lucy’s day,” Hen Lester said. “They were the first to entertain her and her husband—a costume party, I believe it was …”
“No, it was the Hawkeses,” Lucas corrected her, “and it was a garden party.”
After that, the conversation got really boring. They kept on talking about how it used to be in Quincy—and they told it just like it had happened yesterday. If you ask me, these people were weird. They discussed things that had happened fifty or a hundred years ago as if they were current events. I finished my sandwich, ate a piece of cherry pie, then I asked to be excused. When Biggie nodded, I left the table and went out into the lobby where I found Brian sprawled across one of the sofas holding a copy of Texas Monthly , but he wasn’t reading it; he was staring into space. I saw a tear roll down his cheek.
He looked so depressed, I thought I’d cheer him up, so I asked if he liked fishing.
“What? Oh, yeah, sort of. I used to anyway.”
“Where do you go?”
“Caddo Lake, mostly. They’ve got catfish as big as an alligator under some of those cypress logs.”
“Man! You ever catch one?”
Brian swung his legs around and sat up to face me. “No, but I saw one once. Annabeth’s uncle caught it. They had him tied to a tree limb. He was as tall as a man with a head as big as a dinner plate.”
Seeing as how I’m serious about my fishing, I wanted to know more. “Golly, what’d they catch him on?”
“Oh, you can’t catch those babies on a hook. You’ve got to dynamite the log. That stuns the fish and you can shoot him in the head with a .410.”
“Did they cook him and eat him?”
“I guess,” Brian said. “I wouldn’t eat it, though. Catfish are bottom feeders. The meat mostly tastes like mud unless they’re farm-raised. Those bayou folks eat them though. They’ll eat anything.” Brian was beginning to look depressed again. I guess he was thinking about Annabeth being bayou folks herself. Suddenly, Brian swung his head around. There stood Emily Faye, just inside the door listening to us talk. “Why don’t you just get lost?” he said.
Emily Faye put her fist to her mouth and ran back down the hall.
“Don’t you like her?” I asked.
Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t like her, or dislike her,” he said.
I wondered if I should tell Biggie
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