Southern Ghost

God, it was awful.' Whitney swallowed and licked his lips. 'Ross ran to his car. He was out of breath, like he'd run for miles. Therewas sweat on his face. Then he kind of mumbled, 'Tell them I've gone to the lodge,' and he jumped into the car and roared out of there like a bat out of hell.'

Milam took over impatiently. 'Jesus, Whitney, you never could get to the point. Who gives a damn what he looked like? Look, Aunt Dora, it's simple and stupid.' There was no remembered horror in Milam's voice; he was disdainful. 'Ross and Dad had a hell of a fight about three-thirty. You could hear Ross shouting and Dad had that cold, clear voice he used on the bench. You know what I mean. Like God making a judgment from on high, and sweet Jesus, you better listen. Ross should have known better. What a goddam do-gooder. So they mowed down some students at Kent State! Why should Ross put his ass in a sling? Hell, he could've graduated and gotten his commission and applied for transportation or the quartermaster corps or someplace where he wouldn't have been shipped off to Nam. If he couldn't stick that, he could've `accidentally' shot himself in the foot! Whitney and I did Air National Guard, sweeter than honey. Funny thing is, Dad wasn't fooled, but we had legally met our obligations, so he let it lie. But Dad was always so goddam proud of Ross. A cadet colonel, another in the long line of Tarrant gentlemen-soldiers. So, I thought it was pretty funny when Ross finally bucked the system. He yelled at Dad that he wouldn't serve, he wouldn't graduate from The Citadel, and if he was drafted, he'd go to Canada. So the old man about had a stroke and he told Ross he was disowned, to get out of the house and never come back. Dad said Ross had no right to the name, that Tarrants were men of honor and principle—'

'That's what Ross was,' Sybil cried passionately. 'Not like you and Whitney. Ross never ran from anything. He never hid. He did what he thought was right—and everyone knew that war was hideous. The day the National Guard killed those students— oh, God, they were walking to class!' A gen­eration's lament rang in her voice. 'Ross brooded about what had happened all week. Campuses closed all over the country. People marched. Ross came home Saturday morning; he'd made up his mind. He was quitting. He wouldn't take his

commission. He told his father. They quarreled, but Ross was determined. That's when he met me in the garden and we planned—' Tears edged down her cheeks, streaking her per­fect makeup. 'Whenever spring comes, I remember that day. We stood in the sunshine and it was warm against us and he held me and I smelled the honeysuckle and the roses. He kissed me and I ran home to gather up my things. We were leaving.' She glared at them defiantly. 'The car was his. He worked summers and earned the money for it and he had some money saved and so did I and we were going to run away and be married. I waited for him—and he didn't come. He didn't come.' The agony of empty years and lost dreams and a crip­pled heart echoed in the simple declaration.

Charlotte stood with her arms tightly folded across her ample bosom. 'Ross was always a hothead. None of it sur­prised me.' She looked disdainfully at Sybil. 'You know what he was like—he always had to have his own way. Spoiled rotten, that's what Ross was.' Her voice rose suddenly, turned strident. 'And Amanda was always on his side, against Whit­ ney and Milam. As if Ross were better or—'

'That's enough, Charlotte.' Whitney cleared his throat. 'Point is, Sybil, Ross shot Father—'

'No. He wouldn't have.' Sybil stood firm, chin lifted, and there was total certainty in her eyes and her voice. 'Ross was upset, yes, but we were leaving. It was all decided. Why would he shoot the Judge? There was no reason.'

'You were in the garden,' Miss Dora said crisply. 'You said good-bye and were to meet again—'

'In only a few minutes,' Sybil cried. 'Just long enough to gather up some clothes and meet him at the gate.'

Charlotte smoothed her hair, her composure regained. 'Ross probably went back into the house to get some of his things and the Judge saw him and told him to leave and Ross lost his temper. Ross always acted like Tarrant House be­longed to him and not the rest of us. He was crazy about the house. Maybe he decided the Judge had no right to throw him out.' She shrugged. 'What difference does it make? We all know what happened, Sybil.'

'I don't care what you—or anyone—says or will ever say.' Sybil spoke jerkily. 'But I knew Ross. I knew him. He would never have shot his father—and he would never have killed himself. That was a coward's way out—and Ross was never a coward.'

Miss Dora said quietly, 'You are quite correct, my dear child. Ross was a brave young man. A very brave and gallant young man—but he did indeed take his own life. My brother —Ross's grandfather—went to the hunting lodge that day. The next day Harmon related to me what had happened. Har­ mon told me that when he arrived—it was late afternoon by then and the shadows were thick and it was cool and quiet on the front steps—he called out to Ross and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He rattled the knob—and there was a gunshot. He ran to the back of the lodge but that door, too, was locked. Harmon took a log from the woodpile and used it as a battering ram and broke down the back door. Ross was there, sitting in the old morris chair. And he was dead. The front door was still locked.'

Sybil reached out, clinging to a chair for support. Annie had never seen a woman so pale, as if all the blood and life had drained away. And, no matter what Sybil had become, Annie's heart ached for her.

'So we know—we have the word of a witness—what hap­pened to Ross.' Miss Dora's face was grim. 'But that does not end our quest tonight. We still must determine when—and how—the Judge's death occurred.'

'No.' Sybil clasped her arms tight across her body. 'That's wrong, wrong, wrong. I'll never believe it. Ross was brave, I tell you, brave and —'