Joe Higgins Search 02-Search for the

Gatherers Irene Hill

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Search for the Gatherers

Irene Hill
 Copyright © 2020 Irene Hill

Copyright This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the
trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced status and trademark owners of
various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication
/ use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
 I dedicate this book to my family who supports my crazy writing career. And especially my
husband who sacrifices so much to give me time to work on my stories.

I would also like to give special thanks to Ralphaelita Pocatello Stump aka Redbird "Inga-hootchoo" -
Eastern Shoshone, Raphaella Stump aka Chief Eagle Woman -Easter Shoshone and Chippewa-Cree,
and Brenda Wesaw for helping me to better understand the Eastern Shoshone history and way of life
both past and present.
 Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Sneak peek Into Book Three search for Revenge
About The Author
Praise For Author
Books By This Author
 Prologue
“Why the hell do we need to exhume him? You haven’t
caused me enough pain for one week?”
“Joe, you need to see this email.” Brett was sick to his
stomach. This conversation wasn’t something he wanted to
experience.
Joe walked around the desk, and Brett pulled the email up on
the computer screen. Brett stepped away from the desk and
motioned for Joe to take a seat in his chair. The email held two
pictures that Brett wanted Joe to see. Then he slid a few sheets of
paper next to the keyboard. The report included two things that had
brought him to the conclusion that they needed to exhume Brody’s
body.
Joe stared at the computer screen and absently reached into
his back pocket for his can of chew. It wasn’t there. He had quit
chewing almost three years ago, but he desperately wanted a dip to
calm his nerves. He could easily identify the people in the picture he
was looking at as religious extremists. Several women in full length
dresses, their hair in long conservative braids or buns, stood in the
middle of the picture with a group of children between them. The
younger girls resembled the women, and the boys were all dressed
in button-down shirts and blue jeans. Joe didn’t understand why this
picture was important. He definitely didn't understand why it
justified ripping open his deepest wounds. He scrolled down the
page to a second picture and his heart stopped. The second image
was a cropped and zoomed version of the first image. It featured
three young boys, elementary aged if Joe had to venture a guess.
The evidence Brett wanted him to see starred unmistakably up at
him. The quality of the picture didn’t affect the implication Brett was
making. It wasn’t incontrovertible, but it was enough.
Brett waited expectantly for Joe to reach for the papers next
to the keyboard. After a few minutes, Brett realized Joe hadn't
noticed the papers. Brett picked them up and held them to Joe. Joe
still didn’t move. Brett cleared his throat and finally, Joe looked up
and noticed what Brett was holding.
Joe took the papers from Brett but struggled to focus his brain
enough to process the words. He read the first page with his eyes,
although he couldn’t have repeated any of the information. He only
retained something about a woman in danger and a dead child. He
continued on to the second page, still struggling to focus. All at
once, the words demanded his attention.

We suspect that bodies of former members may be disposed

of in a way that makes identification difficult. Evidence is often left
by the group to suggest that the body belongs to someone else. This
practice makes it difficult to track and identify victims of God’s
Gatherers.
 Chapter 1
It was cool, but Joe still rolled the window down. It was a
good day, and he wanted to feel the wind on his face. Normally, the
drive from Casper to Lander was dull and monotonous, but today,
everything seemed a little better than usual. The fall colors were
more pronounced, and the sun was hitting everything in the right
way. Just before he left Casper, the psychologist officially cleared him
to return to duty.
The visit with the psychologist had been underwhelming. Joe
hadn’t known what to expect. He had prepared for a TV drama style
shrink session, where his relationship with his mother was heavily
examined and the psychologist didn’t stop until Joe was crying. In
reality, it had been far more mundane. The psychologist had initially
asked him about the fire, his life since, and his reasons for returning
to duty. Then he had gone through what seemed like a ream of
paperwork, asking Joe questions that Joe didn’t see the reason for.
Because of the length of the interrogation, the evaluation had taken
two appointments. Joe hadn’t been able to eat breakfast that
morning. Worry that the appointment would end badly had made
him nauseous. He didn’t want to hear that he wasn’t fit to return to
duty. Joe was thankful that had not been the outcome. He was
excited to stop in at the department and give Brett the news.
Brett re-hired Joe as a deputy shortly after the Nathan Miller
case had closed, contingent on him passing the psych evaluation.
Brett had tried to give him work helping scan old archives into
computer files, but no matter how Brett justified it, the HR
department insisted that Joe had to have a clean bill of mental
health first. Until that happened, he was still a civilian.
Joe hadn’t been completely removed from law enforcement
for the past few months, though. Ever since the Nathan Miller case,
Joe had been compiling information about God’s Gatherers in his
spare time. He had reached out to Brett’s contact in Reno a few
times. He had also made a trip to Evanston to meet with Hyrum
Atwood, and interview him about his time in the group’s compound.
He had met with Brett several times to share his information. It had
been a lot to fit in with fall ranch work and trying to relearn normal
human behavior, but the past two months had been better than any
other time over the last four years. Joe couldn’t deny that there had
been a lot of tough nights, even a few tough days. Nights were the
worst, filled with nightmares and insomnia. Several times, after
particularly rough nights, retreating back into his protective hermit
lifestyle had seemed like the best option. So far, though, he hadn’t
given in to that urge.
After some coaxing from Alesha and Ada, who tried
unconvincingly to deny being in cahoots, he started attending AA
meetings down at the Methodist Church. He’d had one slip since
he’d started attending, but at his next meeting he would receive a
one month chip. He was finally facing his grief and managing it,
rather than allowing it to manage him. Ada had even talked him into
going to a healer out on the reservation. After years of not believing
in spiritual nonsense, it had been hard to take seriously at first. He
had mostly done it to appease Ada, but since seeing the healer, he
had asked more about the traditions and started trying to make
sense of his own culture.
Joe was enjoying the wind and paying less attention than he
should have been to the road. The moment he realized he had
entered Shoshoni city limits, he saw the lights flash on in his rear-
view mirror. He cursed under his breath and brought the truck to the
side of the road. Four years ago there wasn’t an officer in Fremont
County that he didn’t know, but today, that wasn’t the case. He still
knew a lot of the officers, but there were newer, younger officers
that he wasn’t familiar with. He resisted the urge to dig his wallet
and registration out and instead put his hands on the top of the
wheel. He had a concealed carry permit, but his weapon was less
than concealed. It was sitting on the seat next to him, fully exposed,
and he didn’t need the officer seeing it and reacting before asking
questions. His skin had gotten him in trouble more than once, and
he didn't need that kind of trouble today.
 He watched the driver’s door open in his rear-view mirror and
breathed a sigh of relief. The officer emerging from the patrol
vehicle behind him was a familiar face. Officer Marshall had been
with the Shoshoni Police Department longer than Joe had been with
Fremont County. He'd had several interactions with her over the
years.
“License and registration,” the officer asked before fully
looking into the truck window.
“I have a concealed permit and my weapon is right here next
to me.”
“Thank you. Where is your license and registration? Wait,
Higgins isn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am. And my license is in my back pocket. Registration
is up in my visor.”
“Go ahead and scoot your gun across the seat and get your
documents.” The officer visibly relaxed her stance. “I hear you’re
coming back into our world.”
“That’s the plan”, Joe said, struggling to hide a small grin on
his face. Joe wasn’t one to display his emotions so easily, but getting
the all clear earlier had put an extra bit of bubble in his usual stony
personality. He moved his gun over, shifted his weight and removed
his wallet from his pants pocket.
“I should give you a seat belt ticket. Shouldn’t be out on this
highway without your seatbelt on.” The officer gave him the side
eye, and Joe was sure she wouldn’t ticket him, at least not for the
seatbelt. “You should also slow down when the limit changes,” her
tone flattened and cooled.
Joe wasn’t sure he would get out of the speeding ticket. He
knew she had a point. He had been doing almost twenty miles over
the limit when her lights had come on. “Sorry, having a good day,
wasn’t paying as much attention as I should be.”
“I’d love to give you a warning, but twenty-two miles over is
more than I can look past.” She took his license and registration and
returned to her patrol vehicle.
Joe could feel his blood pressure rising. He didn’t want to deal
with a speeding ticket, or the teasing that it would entail if other
guys at the department got wind of it. And yet, it still didn't shadow
his sunny day.
Officer Marshall returned to his window, handed his
documents back to him, and handed him his ticket. She hadn’t
included the seat belt violation, but the speeding alone was a
significant fine. He thanked her, although he wasn’t sure why, and
got back on the road to Lander.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff’s
office, his mood had deflated some. The more he thought about the
ticket, the more it affected him. It shouldn't have been a big deal,
but it frustrated him. He wasn’t normally so careless. He had rightly
been accused of reckless behavior several times in his life, but he
was never careless. He was glad to share his news with Brett
because the thought of telling Brett he was clear for duty cheered
him up.
He had been following the rules more than ever before since the
Nathan Miller case. He didn’t need one of the disgruntled deputies,
and there were few, turning him in for doing something stupid, he
didn’t need to mess up his return to the department. He entered the
building through the civilian entrance and Collins escorted him into
the department after he ran into her in the hallway. It had been that
way for several weeks and he looked forward to using the back
entrance again.
As he approached Brett’s office, he could see that Brett was
on the phone and the door was closed. Joe was still feeling awkward
around most of the deputies. He wasn’t sure where to stand or how
to spend his time while waiting for Brett to get off the phone. It was
more evident each time he was there that he had very few friends
left in the department. Joe noticed Ronnie approaching from the
other side of the room. The two of them weren’t on any better
ground than they had been two months ago, but improving their
relationship wasn’t high on Joe’s priority list. In Joe’s eyes Ronnie
would always be a cocky, obnoxious rookie who’s opinion didn’t
matter. Ronnie had been very vocal with his opinions when it had
become department wide knowledge that Joe was applying to return
as a deputy.
 “Joe, you here to talk to Brett?”
“Yep.” Joe wasn’t interested in engaging with Ronnie at the
moment.
“Well, I need to talk to him first. Been waiting half an hour.
Can’t figure out who he’s talking to in there.”
“Fine. You going to be long?”
“I doubt it. Guess it will depend on Brett.” Ronnie had been
hiding something for two days now and was finally ready to talk to
Brett about it. He had been out on patrol most of the day, and since
he'd been in the office, Brett had been on the phone. Ronnie didn’t
trust Joe to give him the first shot, so he stood there, awkwardly
holding his place in line.
Joe stared at Ronnie, unimpressed by his presence. It was
awkward enough waiting outside Brett's office like a small child in
line to see the principal. It was worse, standing there in silence with
the rookie he couldn’t stand.
The two of them stood there for fifteen minutes, with no eye
contact and no communication, but enough tension to fill the entire
office. Finally, Brett put down the phone, and after a few more
minutes, he stood from his desk and opened the door. Ronnie
stepped toward the office door so quickly that he almost body
slammed Brett, who was stepping through the doorway.
“What the hell are you doing Brager?”
“I need to talk to you, sir.”
“It’s going to have to wait. I have things to take care of.” Brett
stepped around Ronnie, although Ronnie didn’t make it easy for him.
He headed toward the door to the hallway and was several steps
past Joe before it registered in his mind that Joe was standing there.
Brett doubled back.
“Joe. You need something?”
“If you’re busy, it can wait.” Joe knew Brett well, and the look
on his face told Joe that this wasn’t the right moment to share his
news.
“Give me twenty minutes. You too Brager.” Brett walked off
with purpose in his step, which heightened Joe’s curiosity about the
phone call Brett had been on.
 Brett had not overestimated the time he needed. Joe and
Ronnie stood waiting for twenty minutes before Brett walked back
toward them. Ronnie stepped toward Brett’s office door and widened
his stance to assert himself as first in line.
Joe couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Obviously, what Ronnie
needed to talk to Brett about was important, or at least Ronnie
thought it was. Joe wasn’t about to get in a pissing match over who
got to be first in line. Joe’s news wouldn’t change, no matter how
long he had to wait, and it was good enough news it was worth
waiting for.
Brett’s day had been busy, and he hadn’t had time for lunch,
which was causing him to have a shorter than usual fuse. Ronnie
nearly shoved him into the office, and it annoyed Brett. He didn't
know what Ronnie wanted to talk about, and he wasn't sure he
cared. “What do you need, Brager?”
Ronnie closed the office door and then faced Brett, feeling
more anxiety than he had expected. “I just wanted to give this to
you Sheriff.” Ronnie handed Brett a legal-size envelope. “It’s my
letter of resignation, sir.”
Brett opened the envelope, removed the letter and read it
through. Then he made eye contact with Ronnie. “Where’d you
accept a new position?”
“Cheyenne. I got on with the PD. It’s a better fit for me.”
Ronnie had been looking for a new position for a while, but nothing
had panned out with any of the deputy positions he had applied for.
Making the switch to Cheyenne PD was a big change for him, but he
was looking forward to it. Being closer to Fort Collins and Denver
was a bonus. Lander, well most of Wyoming, had never been a
comfortable place for him. When he’d taken the position, he’d been
in a relationship with a Landerite, it was the only reason he’d ever
come to the God forsaken middle of nowhere. That relationship
ended less than six months after he started at the sheriff’s
department.
“Well, Ronnie, I’m sorry to see you go. You’ve been a good
deputy and a strong leader in this department.” Brett was being
honest about everything he said. He chose to leave out the fact that
it relieved him to see Ronnie’s hot attitude and political tendencies
leave the department though. Since he hired Joe back on as a
deputy, the tension between Joe and Ronnie had been on Brett's
mind several times. Joe wasn’t clear to return yet, but Brett knew
that the two of them would struggle to play nice with each other
once he was. It eased Brett’s mind to know that by the time Joe
returned to duty he and Ronnie would have limited overlap time.
“Halloween will be my last day. It’s been good working with
you Sheriff.” Ronnie hadn’t known how this interaction would play
out, but he knew that this wasn’t what he had expected. He knew
he had been a strong asset to the department, and he had hoped
for more disappointment from Brett. He should have known better,
though. Now that the golden child was returning Ronnie knew he
was no longer a valued member of the department. He didn't
understand why so many people liked Joe. It was Ronnie's opinion
that Joe was a reckless desperado who's time of usefulness in law
enforcement had expired.
Ronnie and Brett stared at each other for several seconds,
neither one knowing how to end the interaction. Finally, Ronnie
turned and walked out. As he passed Joe, he wanted to make a rude
comment but couldn't come up with anything on the fly. Instead, he
gave Joe a glowering look and shouldered him as he passed.
Joe walked into Brett’s office but didn't bother closing the
door. He didn't care who heard what he had to say. He plopped into
the chair in the corner and stretched his legs out toward the desk.
“Well, do you want the good news or the bad news,” he playfully
asked.
“This better be a joke. I can’t do bad news today.”
Joe sat up. “Bad day?”
“Bureaucracy,” Brett said bitterly.
“Well, I guess I’ll give you the good news then. Psychologist
up at DCI (Division of Criminal Investigation) says I’m sane.”
“That is good news. Sounds like I’m about to be down a
deputy, so I’m ready to put you to work. You ready to be the new
kid?”
 “What do you mean you’re about to be down a deputy? You
firing someone?”
“Nope. Ronnie just gave me his resignation. Moving to
Cheyenne, I guess.” Brett appreciated all the work that Ronnie had
done in the department. He was thorough in his work and
meticulous with his paperwork. But he was moody and had been
making comments for at least two years about how much he hated
Lander and how much he wanted to leave. Brett was more shocked
about the news than he logically should have been.
“Really? Wondered what he was so worked up about.”
“Well, you better hit me with your bad news.”
“Got a ticket in Shoshoni. Wasn’t paying attention when I
entered the speed zone. Marshall tagged me going twenty over.” Joe
shrugged.
“I can’t believe she ticketed you. She should know you.”
“She does. Said twenty over was too much to look past,
though. Not a big deal, but thought you ought to know.”
“I can deal with that bad news. Wish I would have known you
were going to Casper today. I’m gonna need you to go back
tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“Some dumb ass lost your swab and now DCI says we can’t
swab you here and send it up. They want to swab you themselves.”
“Where the hell did my swab go? I thought we’d have that
DNA match back this week?”
“I thought so too. Now, they are saying they haven’t even
started making a match because they can’t find your swab. It’s a
bunch of bullshit.”
The whole situation upset Brett. It wasn't only the lost DNA
swab. It was also because DCI was questioning him about the
necessity of the testing. Based on the report that he had received
from his friend in Reno, and the lack of information when Brody
died, Brett knew that it was more than necessary. But some
bureaucrat kept prattling on about lab backlogs and scarcity of
resources. Now, Brett was having to ask for favors from the county
prosecutor and a few of the county commissioners to help him fight
to get the test pushed through. He felt terrible when he'd asked Joe
to exhume Brody. He felt worse knowing that they weren’t getting
the information they needed from it.
Joe could sense that there was more going on then just a lost
swab. Joe wanted to dig deeper, but decided not to. If Brett wasn’t
telling him the whole story, there had to be a reason. Joe also knew
that his first day back to work wasn’t the time to pick a fight with his
boss.
“You want me to drive up there tomorrow? You don’t want me
here?”
“No, we need to get that swab done as soon as possible. I’m
not going to let them play bullshit games with this.”
“Am I going as a civilian?”
"Yeah, I suppose you are."
“I might have Ada ride up with me. We can stop in Shoshoni
and get milkshakes on the way back.”
“Sounds good.” Brett had directed his attention to the
computer, to let the clerk at DCI know that Joe would be there the
next day. Joe stood and started leaving the small office. Brett looked
up from his computer. “Joe.”
“Yeah,” Joe turned back to face Brett.
“A milkshake better be the only thing you get in Shoshoni.
Watch that lead foot.”
“Got it. No more Andretti moves through Shoshoni.” Joe and
Brett both chuckled as Joe walked out. He got in the truck and
headed to Westward Heights to invite Ada on a date to Casper.
 Chapter 2
When he arrived at the care center, Ada wasn’t in her normal
spot in the front lobby. He rarely visited her in the afternoon though,
so he didn't think much of it. He walked down the hallway toward
her room and found her sitting in her wheelchair. Alesha was sitting
on the edge of the bed and the two of them appeared to be deep in
conversation. He watched them from the hallway for several
minutes. They both had serious looks on their faces and Joe couldn’t
help but wonder what they were talking about. He knocked softly
on the door frame of her bedroom and entered. Both women looked
at him and smiled.
“Joe, I haven’t seen you in a few days. Did you go to your
appointment in Casper?”
Joe hadn’t planned to tell Ada how his appointment had gone.
He had hoped to wait until his first day back at work and then come
to visit her at the end of his shift in uniform. But since she asked, he
couldn’t keep the good news from her. “I just got back. I am
officially the newest deputy with the Fremont County Sheriff’s
Department.”
Ada smiled. Alesha stood up and hugged him. “I’m so proud
of you! I knew they wouldn’t be able to prove you're crazy.” She
laughed and patted his shoulder. “Since you’re here, I’d better go.”
“I’m not here to chase you off.”
“I know, but I should go. I’m going down to Cheyenne to see
Tucker this weekend, and I need to get some laundry done first.”
She hugged him again, hugged Ada, and left the room.
Joe hadn’t told Ada about Brody’s exhumation or the DNA
testing. He understood Brett’s hunch, and agreed with it, but that
didn’t mean digging up the body of his boy wasn’t painful. The
reason for the exhumation brought him twice the pain. He could not
allow Ada to feel the same pain. He had concocted a story to tell her
about running an errand to Casper for the department, which wasn’t
a complete untruth. She would have to wait in the truck while he
went in for his swab anyway, so she didn’t need to know what he
was doing in the DCI office.
“Brett needs me to go to Casper again tomorrow. Department
stuff. Thought you might want to go with me. We can grab
milkshakes in Shoshoni on the way back.”
“I don’t know Joe. That doctor’s fixing my medicine, I don’t
stand too good now. I don’t think I can get in and out of a car.”
“I can help you.”
“I’m not a sack of grain. You can’t throw me in your pickup.”
Ada spoke sharply, with a matter-of-fact tone. It was a tone that Joe
had learned to take seriously as a teenager, but hadn't heard in
several years.
Joe knew he wouldn’t win this argument. Ada had been
different for the past several weeks. She had consistently blamed it
on the medication changes she was going through, but Joe
suspected there was more going on. She hadn’t wanted him to
accompany her to her last two doctor’s appointments, which wasn't
normal. He had gone to all her appointments since the doctor
diagnosed her with Parkinson’s Disease. Joe worried about the
change in her demeanor and in their relationship. The most
concerning part was that it coincided with him deciding to hire some
help for the ranch and return to the sheriff’s department. Joe would
be lying if he said his feelings weren’t at least a little hurt by her
refusal. “Ok, if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. I just
thought you’d want to get out of here for a day.”
“Good. I don’t want to go.” Ada didn’t meet Joe’s eyes. She
had too much to hide, and letting him see her eyes wouldn’t allow
her to continue keeping her secrets.
“Do you need me to get anything while I am in Casper?”
“No. I don’t need anything.”
Even though it had been a good day for Joe, emotions were
running high and he couldn’t handle the cold shoulder she was
giving him. He wondered if she was being this secretive with Alesha.
It had seemed that they were sharing something serious when he
had arrived. It hurt him to think Ada might be sharing more with
Alesha than she was with him. He wasn’t sure if Alesha had always
visited her so often because he hadn’t paid attention in the past.
Since the Nathan Miller case, though, he noticed that Alesha visited
Ada at least twice a week. Sometimes even he couldn't fit that many
visits into his schedule and he was her blood.
“Ok. I better get going. I’ve got things I need to do at home.”
He leaned over her wheelchair and hugged her, tighter and longer
than he usually did. “I love you Aunt Ada.”
Ada hugged him back but didn’t say anything to him. She
didn’t remember the last time Joe had told her he loved her. It made
her feel even worse about the secret she was keeping from him.
 Chapter 3
When Joe arrived back at the ranch, he had several things to
get done before dark. He had hired a kid from town, Carl Clark, to
help him out on the ranch, now that he was returning to the sheriff’s
department. He knew it wasn’t right to call Carl a kid. He was
twenty-three years old, but Joe still perceived him as a kid. Joe knew
Carl's parents and had watched him grow up. But that wasn't the
only problem. Carl didn’t have the level of maturity required for Joe
to see him as an adult. He was good at getting things done if Joe
told him what to do, but he wasn’t a good self starter, and he was
always hungover on Saturday mornings. Joe appreciated the work
Carl was getting done, but he did not enjoy the micromanagement it
required. Joe had too much going on to fire Carl and try to find a
new hand, but it was somewhere on his list of to-do. Somewhere
near the bottom.
Joe didn’t see any sign of Carl when he got out of the truck,
which he hoped meant that Carl was still out working on a stretch of
fence that Joe had asked him to fix. Several posts on that stretch
had started to rot out. Joe took his go bag and the mail into the
house and changed into his work clothes. He tackled his own to-do
list and didn’t worry about finding Carl, at least for a while.
Joe went to the shop to finish welding a broken hitch on the
feed wagon. He would need it soon and needed to quit putting it off.
As he was setting up his wire feed and getting everything ready to
weld, he couldn't quit thinking about his interaction with Ada. She
had been acting oddly since the Nathan Miller search, but today had
been the most extreme change he had noticed. He didn’t know why
it hurt him so much that she didn’t want to go to Casper with him,
but he couldn’t get over it.
Ada and Lew were the most constant thing in his life. When
she lost Lew, Joe had tried to be a rock for her. Then, seven months
later, the tables had turned and suddenly Joe was a widow and
grieving parent. As it had been much of his life, Ada was again his
rock. He’d tried not to lean on her, but he had no one else, and she
wouldn’t allow him to isolate from her. Now, for the first time in his
life, she was isolating herself from him.
He made three welds that had to be ground off because he
couldn’t focus on anything but Ada. He decided the best way to deal
with the situation would be to call Alesha and grill her for
information. Once he made that decision, he focused enough to
make a few passable welds. They weren't beautiful, but he thought
they should at least get the feed wagon through the winter. He shut
down the welder and walked to the house.
When he walked out of the shop, Carl’s pickup was in the
yard. At first, Joe didn’t see any sign of Carl. Then, he realized that
Carl was still in the pickup with the driver’s seat laid back, hat over
his eyes, sleeping. Joe leaned down and picked up a small rock,
intending to throw it through the open window at Carl, but he
changed his mind. He shook his head in disgust, dropped the rock
and walked into the house.
He picked up the cordless and started to dial Brett and
Alesha’s number. Before he finished dialing, he changed his mind,
hung up the phone and grabbed his truck keys. He could be more
persuasive in person, and it would be easier to read Alesha’s tone
and body language.
As he passed Carl’s pickup, he slapped the hood with his open
hand. Carl sat straight up and flipped his hat onto the dashboard.
“Go home, Carl. You’re done for today. I need you to check
water in the morning.”
“All right. See you later.” Carl fired the engine and pulled out
of the yard.
Joe remembered again that he needed to fire that kid. He got
in his truck, shoved an AC/DC cassette into the radio and headed
toward Brett and Alesha’s house.
When he got there, Alesha’s car was in the driveway, and the
front door was open. Mid October wasn’t always this warm, and
everyone seemed to be enjoying every bit that they could. Wyoming
weather could turn without notice and bury them in several inches of
snow at any time. Joe knocked on the open door frame and heard
Alesha yell come in from somewhere at the back of the house. It
made him uncomfortable walking in, unable to see anyone, even
though he had walked in unannounced hundreds of times before. He
walked in and headed toward her voice. He found her in the laundry
room, folding towels.
“Hey. How’d I get lucky enough to see you twice in one day?”
Alesha was thankful to have at least part of the old Joe back. She
tried to be as supportive of him as she could be, without treating
him the way Anne had when she had driven him away.
“I just need to ask you a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Is Ada ok?” Joe fixed his eyes on Alesha, ready to observe all
her communication, especially that beyond her words.
Alesha didn’t look up from the towel she was folding. She
focused deeply on making each fold crisp and exact. Her heart rate
increased, and she tried in vain to hide any reaction she was having
to his question. Ada had confided in her a month and a half ago and
instructed her not to share anything with Joe. Alesha had told Ada
she wasn’t comfortable keeping secrets, but it didn’t seem to matter
to Ada. She tried to compose herself before meeting Joe’s eyes.
“Why do you ask?”
“She just doesn’t seem right, and she’s being snippy with me.
Not like her.”
“Well, they are changing her medications.”
“Yeah, about that. Why are you taking her to her
appointments? I’m her son, it should be me with her.” The words
came out fast and meaner than Joe had intended. He rarely called
himself her son, although legally he was. The statement shocked
him and it was obvious by the look on Alesha’s face, it had shocked
her too.
“I didn’t ask to take her to those appointments. She asked
me. She’s trying to protect you!” Alesha gulped. She hadn’t meant to
say that last part out loud, but she couldn’t take it back now.
“Protect me from what?” Joe wanted to be angry, but what he
felt was fear. What would Ada possibly have to protect him from? He
was a forty-year-old man, not a child anymore.
 “Nope. Nope. Shouldn’t have said anything. You need to take
this up with her. I told her I didn’t want to be in the middle of all this
shit.” Alesha’s cheeks were instantly red. She worried this would
drive Joe away, and that was the last thing she wanted. She was
glad he had tackled his grief and returned to the department. But,
she knew he was still struggling, and she didn’t want to be the one
that pushed him back into his hermit lifestyle.
“She won’t talk to me!”
“I won’t get in the middle of this.”
“Then you come down to the nursing home with me and
convince her to tell me whatever the hell it is that she won’t tell me.”
“If she tells you what’s going on, are you going to be honest
with her?”
“About what?”
“Brody.” Alesha couldn’t keep her voice from cracking, even to
utter that single word.
“I might.” Joe wasn’t about to commit to anything until he
knew what Ada was keeping from him.
Alesha hesitated. She had things to do before she left for
Cheyenne the next day. However, if she went with Joe, and could
convince Ada to be honest with him, it might minimize the damage
to Alesha's relationship with Joe. It would also end this ridiculous
secret keeping that she had been drug into. “Fine, but I don’t know
if it will change anything. I’ve already told her she should talk to
you.”
 Chapter 4
Ada was back at her usual spot in the front lobby, enjoying
some post supper coffee. She saw Joe’s truck pull up and then
watched as he and Alesha came up the sidewalk toward the
building. Joe’s walk had purpose in it, and Alesha’s shoulders were
slumped. Ada knew her secret was out. She wasn’t ready for this
conversation, but braced herself as best she could. When Joe walked
in, he used his deputy tone on her.
“We need to talk, let’s go to your room.”
“We can talk here.”
“No, we can’t. I’ll push you to your room.”
“You won’t. I drive just fine without your help.” Ada put her
coffee cup down on an end table and propelled herself slowly down
the hall. She was thankful, for once, that she had to traverse the
entirety of the hall before she reached her room.
Once the three of them reached Ada’s room, Joe pulled the
door closed and sat on the bed, positioning himself next to Ada and
her wheelchair. Alesha stood near the door, looking like a scolded
child.
Joe still wanted to be mad, but couldn’t manage it. “What is
going on with your medications?”
“That doctor is changing them,” Ada said flatly.
“What doctor? Dr. Wilson?”
“No. I’m not seeing Dr. Wilson for this.”
It surprised Joe. Dr. Wilson had been following Ada since her
Parkinson’s diagnosis four years before. The only other doctor she
had seen, to Joe’s knowledge, was her primary care doctor with
Indian Health Services (IHS). “Who are you seeing? Ada, what is
going on?”
“She didn’t tell you?” Ada realized that she had braced herself
for the wrong conversation.
Alesha remained in the corner, but spoke up. “I told you I
wouldn’t tell him. I also told you I didn’t want to be in the middle of
everything.” She kept her head down and studied her stained canvas
tennis shoes.
“Joe,” Ada put her hand on his, “I’m sick.”
Joe didn’t respond.
“My shakes started getting worse and Dr. Wilson couldn’t fix
them. He sent me to his friend who scanned my head.” Ada paused.
She wasn’t ready to tell him the rest. She hadn’t wanted it to play
out this way.
Joe anticipated what was coming. He didn’t want her to
finish, but he needed to know for sure.
“They found cancer.”
“Are you taking chemo or radiation?”
“I’m not taking that poison to treat it.”
“So you’re not doing anything about it?”
“I’m taking some natural things.”
Joe stared at her. “So you’re doing nothing?”
“I’m not doing the chemo. I don’t want to live a half-life. It
doesn’t hurt, I just spill more coffee than I used to.”
Joe didn’t know what to say. Over the last two months, he
had almost felt like a functional human, and suddenly he had the
desire to hit up the liquor store and never leave the ranch again.
Even though Joe knew it would hurt Ada, he couldn’t think of
anything to do but get away from the situation. He stood from the
bedside and left Ada’s room. He couldn’t catch his breath. His heart
was pounding and his vision narrowed. His movements were
automatic, and he had no conscious control of the path he was
taking. When he consciously recognized where he was, and what
was going on, he was standing next to his truck, leaning on the
hood.
Thoughts he could not control bombarded his conscience. He
didn’t know how he could start working at the sheriff’s department
again. Working full time would limit his ability to be with Ada when
she needed him, and he didn't want that. He may have been forty
years old, but he was not prepared to lose another mother. Losing
his biological mother had been more than enough pain. He didn’t
know what he would do without Ada. What would he do with his
extra time? Who would he talk to that would understand him? When
Ada passed, Joe would have no one. He did not know how to
process any of those thoughts.
He did know that he could not tell Ada his secret. Unless he
had no other option, she would never know about the exhumation.
She did not need to carry that pain. It was one thing he knew he
could do for her, he could carry that burden alone.
Alesha couldn't decide what to do. Ada’s face had anguish
painted on it, but so did Joe’s. She didn’t know who to comfort. She
stood frozen, trying in vain to choose between two people that she
loved, when the nurse walked in with medications for Ada. It was
obvious immediately that the nurse noticed the tears on Ada’s
cheeks.
“Did you finally tell him?” The nurse asked as she knelt down
next to Ada’s chair.
Alesha knew this was her chance to go after Joe. The nurse
could comfort Ada. As Alesha walked down the hall, she realized Joe
could be gone by now. Not only was she worried about what he
might do, it left her without a ride. When she got to the front door,
she breathed a deep sigh. Joe and his truck were still in the parking
lot.
She approached him and reached for his shoulder, hoping to
convey a sense of comfort to him. She hadn’t been intentionally
quiet, but as soon as she touched him it became very clear Joe had
not heard her coming. Alesha had to dodge left to avoid a broken
nose.
“Shit Alesha, what the hell are you doing sneaking up on
me?”
“I wasn’t sneaking up on you. I was comforting you.” Alesha’s
emotions were running high and the last sentence came out as more
of a scolding than a comfort.
“How the hell’d she keep this from me? Why’d you let her?”
“I asked her not to. I asked her at least a hundred times to
take you to appointments rather than me. I wanted to tell you, but I
didn’t want to hurt either of you. And she made me promise not to
tell you, and being honest, she kind of scares me.”
 Joe’s expression didn’t change. “I should’ve been part of this.
I should’ve been there to comfort her. I’m her blood! You’re just her
dead daughter-in-law’s cousin!”
As soon as it left his mouth, Joe regretted his last sentence.
He knew how stubborn and set in her ways Ada could be. Joe had
no reason to believe that Alesha had put herself into the situation.
He knew this was all Ada, but in this moment, it was relieving his
stress to blame Alesha. The look on Alesha’s face, though, negated
any relief he had briefly felt.
Alesha couldn’t speak, words wouldn’t come to her. She
stood, staring at Joe, trying in vain to say something that would hurt
him as much as he had hurt her. After what felt like an hour, but was
less than five minutes, she gathered herself and turned to walk back
into Westward Heights.
“Lesh, I’m sorry...I’m sorry. Let me give you a ride home.”
“No. I’m calling Brett. You go home and tie one on! Your nicer
when you're an angry drunk.” She did not hold back. Finally, she had
words to put with her feelings. Joe had crossed a line and she
couldn’t be nice to him right now, maybe not for a long time.
 Chapter 5
When Joe got back to the ranch, he worked through his anger
by welding everything that had been on his to-do list for the past six
months. Not a single weld would have passed the appearance check
in his high school shop class, but they would all hold. By the time he
finished, it was dark and chilly out. He should have gone to the
house, but he got in his truck and drove to the Maverik. He wasn’t a
stranger to the night cashier, and when he approached the check
stand with a twelve pack, she gave him a sympathetic look.
“Tough night?”
“Tough day,” Joe responded.
“Thought you were goin’ to the meetings now?”
“Not tonight.” He paid for his beer and left the convenience
store. He drove back to the ranch without turning the radio on.
When he walked in the house, the answering machine was
blinking. He hit the button as he walked past it on his way to the
recliner. The first message was some hybrid apology/ass-chewing
from Ada. The second message seemed to be a wrong number.
When the third message started, all Joe could hear, was someone
breathing on the other end. Finally, a voice broke the silence. “Mr.,
ah, Deputy Higgins, I need help.” Long pause with only the sound of
breathing. “I know you are trying to find God’s Gatherers. Everything
you think you know about them is right. I can help you if you can
help me.” The line went dead. Joe was sitting on the edge of his
recliner, holding his opened, but unconsumed beer halfway to his
mouth. The woman left no name, no number, and no clues about
how she had found him, or who she was. The woman’s voice
sounded dimly familiar, but Joe didn’t have the first idea who this
woman might be.
Joe remained frozen for an hour holding his beer, without
taking a drink of it, while worrying about who the mystery woman
could be. When he regained control of himself, Joe dumped the beer
down the bathroom sink and went to bed.
 Soon, he was driving toward Lander in his patrol vehicle,
Brody was asleep in the passenger seat. As Joe neared the
Husky, he could see two teenagers standing next to a pickup
truck. It looked like a fight. Joe pulled into the parking lot and
got out of his vehicle. He only recognized one boy. Billy
Blackman was a local kid, but the other boy who looked more
like he was in his early twenties, than his teens, wasn’t
someone Joe recognized. As soon as Billy saw him, the boys
backed away from each other.

“Everything ok here?” Joe asked as he walked toward them.

“Just letting this guy know how things work around here.”

“And how’s that Billy?”

“Just letting him know we protect our friends. Not a good

idea for a damn hippie to be messing with a local. She’s got
friends here, he doesn’t.”

The hippie was slowly backing toward an old beat up Geo

with no front license plate. As long as there wasn’t a fight, Joe
didn’t care if the kid left, so he paid him no attention.

“Billy, is there something going on I should know about?”

“No, sir.” Billy’s face clearly projected that he realized he

needed to respect the authority of law enforcement. “Just
worried about a friend, don’t think she oughta get wrapped up
with this shithead.”

“Go home Billy. Take it up with your friend. Don’t start

fights.”

As Joe climbed back into his SUV, the other boy jumped
onto the hood, brandishing a gun in Joe’s face.
 Joe bolted upright in bed. This nightmare made little sense to
him. None of the events of the dream had ever happened to him in
real life. Normally Joe’s dreams were mashups of things he had
really done, twisted into horrific events. Joe had broken up his share
of fights as a deputy, but never between Billy Blackman and an
unknown suspect. Joe had a fleeting thought the other boy in the
dream was someone he had seen before, but the thought didn't
linger long enough for him to analyze it.
When Joe’s breathing slowed, he looked at the bedside clock
radio. It was 0400 and Joe decided it wasn’t worth trying to catch
thirty more minutes of sleep.
Joe dressed quickly, and although he knew that he should eat
breakfast, he didn't. With the news about Ada, and having to go for
another DNA swab today he couldn't control the butterflies in his
stomach. Joe and Brett had hoped to have the DNA match back by
now, and knowing that it hadn't even been started, dealt Joe a
heavy blow. He had almost forgotten about the message from the
mysterious woman the night before until he walked past the
answering machine. It spurred his memory, adding one more thing
for him to stew about.
He didn’t need to leave the house for another hour, so he sat
down in his recliner and hit the message button again. Now,
knowing what to expect from the message, he tried to listen to it like
an investigator and not a confused jack rabbit. It didn’t help him
gain much though. He noticed that the woman was likely using a
payphone or community phone. The background noise made Joe
suspect she was in a diner or cafe. Other than that clue, he gleaned
nothing new from the message. Her voice was raspy, but young, and
her words rushed. She sounded distressed, and like she was trying
to keep her voice quiet. A tickle in the far reaches of Joe’s brain told
him he may know this voice, but no memories came to him. He had
been talking to people about God’s Gatherers recently but he did not
understand how that information would have gotten to anyone
inside the organization. So far in his fact finding journey, he had only
talked to people he knew. The woman not leaving any identifying
information, or a way for him to contact her, was worrisome.
 After wasting more time that he intended on the message,
Joe left the house and headed toward Casper. Ada choosing not to
go with him weighed more heavily on his mood than he had
expected it to. The day before, he had been floating on a cloud
knowing that he could return to his job as a deputy. As he drove that
morning, he didn’t think his day could be any more miserable. Ada
was dying. He felt betrayed by Alesha, and he had said things to her
he couldn’t take back. He missed Bennie fiercely, and he didn’t want
to face the reason he was driving to Casper.
 Chapter 6
When Joe got to Casper, there was a wreck at the intersection
of Hwy 26 and 257. He cursed his luck. He still had forty-five
minutes before he needed to be at the DCI office, but he liked to be
early. Joe was only four vehicles back from the wreck and he could
see that the lone officer on the scene was struggling. Joe shut the
truck’s engine off and got out to see if he could provide any
assistance.
When Joe neared the accident, the officer saw Joe out of the
corner of his eye and turned to face him. “Sir, get back in your car!”
“Hey, hey, calm down. I’m a deputy with Fremont County. Do
you need any help?”
The officer’s stance and tone relaxed. He pointed toward an
older model Ford truck. “You could try to calm that driver down. I
think she’s ok, but she’s in shock for sure. This guy isn’t doing too
well. I’ve got medics coming but they’re still a few minutes out.”
“You got it,” Joe said and turned toward the truck. As he
approached, he could see a young girl, eighteen at most, curled up
on the bench seat sobbing. As he approached her, Joe could see that
she was shaking. Shock was setting in. He scolded himself for not
grabbing his go bag when he left the truck. He removed his jacket
although it was light and not worth much for warming someone up.
“Ma’am, what’s your name?”
The girl sat up with a bewildered look on her face. “What?”
“I’m Joe, I’m a deputy. What’s your name?”
“Sarah, I’m a waitress. Did I kill that guy?”
“He’s alive. How old are you?”
“I’m seventeen. But I’m homeschooled.”
“I’m going to put my jacket around you. We need to keep you
warm.” Joe wasn’t sure what her schooling had to do with the
current situation, but he nodded in acknowledgement. He put his
jacket around the girl who then tried to get out of the truck. "Where
are you going Sarah?”
 “I don’t know. I don’t feel good.”
“Ok, why don’t we sit down over at the side of the road.” Joe
guided her to the edge of the road and assisted her to the ground.
He squatted down next to her. “Where were you going?”
“I was on my way to the nursing home to see my grandma.
You know, the Jesus nursing home.”
Joe did not know. He wasn’t familiar with the nursing homes
in Casper and had never heard of one he would associate with
Jesus. Joe heard the ambulance approaching but based on what the
officer had said, he suspected it was headed for the other vehicle.
He and Sarah would have to wait for a second ambulance. Luckily,
Joe underestimated the EMS response in a larger town like Casper
and a second ambulance pulled up within a few minutes of the first.
Joe gave report to the medics and left Sarah in their capable
hands. He looked around for the officer he had originally interacted
with and after a few minutes, located him near the other ambulance.
Joe surveyed the scene as he walked toward the officer. The
response going on around him had been a lot bigger than he had
realized. At least three more officers were now on the scene as well
as a fire truck. Joe motioned to the officer he had originally talked
to, to get his attention. “I’m gonna go back to my truck. Let me
know when you're ready for me to fill out a report.”
A second officer stepped toward Joe. “You're a deputy?”
“Out of Fremont County.”
“Thanks for your help. That girl ok?”
“Shook up good, but that’s it.”
“Well she’s doing better than the other guy then.”
“Beat up pretty bad?”
“Yeah, looks like several broken bones. And higher than a
kite.”
“One of those, huh?” Joe hated accidents that involved DUI.
It complicated everything.
“Yeah, kid I’ve dealt with before. He’s pretty messed up.” The
officer looked over his shoulder at the ambulance and then back at
Joe. “I bet you know him. I think he’s from your neck of the woods.
Tim Duncan?”
 Joe’s stomach flipped. He recognized the name immediately.
“Yeah, he’s been messed up for a long time. Ever since his girlfriend
ran off.”
“Did she take off with another guy?”
“Nah, well not that we know of. She was a troubled kid, just
took off one day four years ago.”
“I hope this accident will give Tim the wake up call he needs.
I’ll grab you a witness report.” The officer walked away and returned
within a few minutes with a clipboard.
Joe walked back to his truck and filled out the report. He
wasn’t on duty, so he did his best to fill it out like a civilian, although
he wasn’t altogether sure how a true civilian filled out a report. As
he was finishing up, the ambulance carrying Tim pulled away. The
medics who had been with Sarah had already left, and she was in
one of the patrol vehicles, wrapped in a blanket. Joe approached the
officer who had given him the clipboard and returned it to him. He
motioned toward Sarah. “She ok?”
“Yeah. Got her mom coming to pick her up. Like you said, just
shook up. Thanks for your help. Farnes is still a rookie, glad you
were here to help him.”
“No problem.” Joe walked back to his truck and turned the
motor on. He cranked the heater, even though it was blowing frosty
air. He glanced at the clock and realized he would not make it to DCI
as early as he had hoped. He wanted to be mad about it, but
working the accident had helped take his mind off of all his
problems, so he shrugged it off.
When he arrived at DCI, all his frustrations returned. The lab
technician made him wait for twenty-five minutes before taking him
back to the little exam room. Then she left him in the exam room
waiting for another fifteen. While she prepared his test, she kept
muttering about her opinion that this case should have gone to the
main lab in Cheyenne. When she finally swabbed him, he was
thinking the drive to Cheyenne might have been easier.
The drive back to Lander was uneventful and Joe spent the
entire time feeling sorry for himself.
 Chapter 7
Joe killed the weekend working on the ranch and wallowing in
his sorrows. He opened a beer every night when he sat down for
dinner, but every night, he poured a full can down the drain. Finally,
on Sunday afternoon, he decided he needed to quit avoiding Ada, so
he drove into town after lunch. Ada had called him every day since
he had last seen her, and he hadn’t returned any of her calls. He
knew chances were good he would get yelled at when he got to
Westward Heights.
Ada wasn’t sitting up front, and when Joe went to her room,
there was no sign of her there either. A small surge of panic shot
through him but he walked calmly back to the nurses’ desk. One of
the younger nurses, a girl he didn’t recognize, was charting when he
approached.
“Can I help you?” Her tone was more cheery than most of the
nurses he was used to talking to. She reminded him of the first time
he had talked to Bennie, at this same desk.
“I’m looking for Ada Higgins. She’s not in her room.”
“Oh, she’s probably on the patio. They have some guy out
there playing guitar for the residents. I think I saw her headed that
way.”
“Thank you.” Joe walked to the door leading to the patio. He
could see Ada sitting in the back of the crowd. Joe wasn’t sure what
to do. On one hand, she wasn’t likely to make a scene in front of a
large group, so approaching her now may be safer. On the other
hand, she looked like she was enjoying herself and interrupting that
might make things a lot worse for him.
Ada noticed Joe standing just inside the door. She wasn’t in
any mood to deal with him but her motherly instincts told her he
was hurting as much as she was. She had kept her secret to protect
him. He was finally sober, going to AA meetings and seeing her
cousin’s boy for healing out in Ethete. She didn’t want to mess that
up by causing him to worry about her. Worry was unnecessary, it
wouldn’t solve anything. She had made her peace with what the
cancer meant. She was only a few months from eighty, and she
missed Lew, but it hurt her to think about leaving Joe. It hurt her to
think of him losing another mother. Of him being all alone. When he
had sobered up and decided to go back to police work, she had
prayed it would also mean he would find another woman to share
his life with. However, now she didn't think that would happen in
time for her to see it. She took a deep breath, unlocked the brakes
on her wheelchair, and slowly wheeled herself toward the door.
Joe saw Ada rolling herself toward him. He knew then, that
she had seen him. When she reached the door, he didn't say
anything to her. He got behind her chair and slowly pushed her back
to her room. Her not protesting told Joe that this talk may go better
than he had expected. When they reached her room, Joe parked
her in her usual spot and sat down on the bed next to her. They sat
quietly until Ada reached out her hand to hold Joe’s.
“I didn't want you hurting.”
"Didn't you think I would hurt when you died and I knew I
hadn't been there for you?" Joe struggled to keep his voice even and
not allow it to crack.
"I didn't think about that. You've been going to sweats.
You've been going to meetings. I didn't want to mess that up."
"You are more important than sweats and meetings Ada." Joe
could feel the heat in his eyes and the tears threatening to spill out.
The pain he felt from losing his mother differed tremendously from
the pain he had felt when he lost Bennie and Brody. The pain in his
heart now was again the pain of losing a mother, even though she
wasn't gone yet and he rarely called her by that title.
Ada met his eyes for the first time since he had arrived. He
looked rough. Rougher than he had looked since he returned from
Evanston two months ago. "Have you been drinking? Why haven't
you answered my calls?"
Although he was full of grief, Ada’s assumption still frustrated
Joe. His gut reaction was to snap at her, but he restrained himself
and waited several moments before responding, although the time
didn’t soften his blow. "No, I have not been drinking. But you pissed
me off, I needed a break."
Ada dropped her head. She had raised Joe to be more
respectful of his elders, but she had it coming. She knew she had
hurt him, and she’d done it on purpose. The purpose may not have
been to hurt him but the intent was to keep a secret, and that was
never healthy.
Joe and Ada sat in silence for over an hour. Joe cradled her
hand and watched tears roll down her cheeks. He didn't know how
to comfort her, he so rarely had needed to during his life. He had
hoped to ask her more questions about her cancer to find out why
she wasn't willing to treat it. However, just being with her was what
his heart needed. He needed to know that they were ok, and he
knew that they were both finding peace in the silence.
When one of the nurse aides came to the room to let Ada
know it was dinner time, Joe stood up from the bed and put his
hand on Ada’s shoulder. "Would you like me to give you a ride to the
dining room?" Joe expected her to say no. She rarely let him push
her anywhere, and she had allowed it once already.
"That would be nice."
As Joe pushed her down the hall, he told her he was
returning to work the next day. "I work my first shift at the sheriff's
department tomorrow. Even though I have worked there before I
have to do some training shifts. So I'm on days for right now."
"I'm glad you're going back."
"I'll try to come see you at the end of my shift. It's been a
long time since I’ve balanced the ranch and the department, I might
be pretty busy for a while."
Joe pushed Ada’s wheelchair up to the dining room table
where she usually sat with two other women. Both of the women
were already at the table. She motioned for Joe to lean down and
she embraced him in a warm but shaky hug.
As Joe pulled his truck out of the parking lot, he knew what
he needed to do, and he headed toward Cliff Street.
When he pulled up in front of the house, he didn’t see
Alesha’s Toyota. Brett’s truck sat in the driveway but the garage door
was closed. Joe hoped that the Toyota was hiding inside.
He walked up to the front door and knocked once. He could
hear footsteps inside, but they were too heavy to belong to Alesha.
Brett opened the door and gave Joe a look that he couldn’t read.
“Is it your goal in life to hurt my wife?” Brett’s tone wasn’t as
much accusatory as wounded.
“No, that’s why I’m here. I need to apologize.” Joe met Brett’s
eyes because he had learned in the military to never look away
during a confrontation. And, he had learned from years of working
with Brett that standing his ground was his best defense.
“She’s not home yet. She spent the weekend with Tuck in
Cheyenne, some parents' weekend thing that I don’t understand.”
Brett stepped back from the door and motioned to the couch. He
took a seat in his chair and figured if Joe wanted to talk he would
come in. If not, he could leave.
Joe followed Brett’s lead and found himself a spot on the couch.
He wasn’t sure what to prepare himself for, but kept his guard up in
case Brett defended Alesha.
“Why did you attack Lesh?”
“I didn’t exactly attack her. I just said some terrible, hateful
things.”
“Well, she sure as hell felt attacked. I thought someone had
died when she called me, she was hysterical.”
“I told you I came to apologize. But that secret keeping her
and Ada did was bull.” Joe was there to make peace. He didn’t want
to pick a fight with Brett, especially not the evening before he
returned to the department. However, he wasn’t about to pretend
that his actions hadn’t had a cause.
“You know your aunt. She told Alesha what her plan was and
expected her to follow directions. You know Lesh would never hurt
you on purpose. You’re the brother she always wanted and taking
care of you is how she remembers Bennie. She got stuck in a hard
spot.” Brett didn’t exactly blame Joe for anything that he’d said that
day at Westward Heights. He knew Alesha cared for Ada, as did he,
but he had discouraged her from becoming involved in Ada’s medical
care from the start. He knew that Ada wouldn’t be able to keep Joe
in the dark forever. It actually surprised him that the interaction
hadn’t been significantly worse. Brett knew Joe was right and
agreed with him. Alesha might love them like family, but he was
Ada’s only blood.
Joe saw Brett relax. Joe knew that Brett understood, or at
least acknowledged, what he was going through. “So, when’s she
supposed to be home?”
“I think she should be here about 2000. But I don’t think
she’s ready for you to apologize. Tucker called me yesterday wanting
to know what you did. Guess she was complaining about you to him.
You know that’s bad.”
“Yeah, that’s not good. You let me know when I’m safe to
apologize?”
“Will do.”
Joe stood from the couch and made his way toward the door.
He wasn’t being purposefully rude, but he had no reason to stay and
make uncomfortable small talk with Brett if he wasn’t waiting for
Alesha. “See ya tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. You better be on time,” Brett snickered.
Joe was less than a mile from the turnoff for Willow Creek Road,
when he realized he should have told Brett about the call from the
mystery woman.
 Chapter 8
The events of the week had gotten the better of Joe, and the
emotion toll was catching up with him. He usually attended Sunday
night AA at the Methodist church, but he wasn't up for all the
sharing and introspection. He would try to catch the Tuesday night
meeting, if his schedule allowed it. He made himself a Hungry Man
dinner and stared at the TV, without turning it on, while he ate.
Shortly after finishing his meal, the phone rang. He hoped it might
be Alesha.
"Hello?"
"Uh, Mr. Higgins?"
Joe immediately recognized the voice as the woman from his
answering machine. "Yes."
"Are you really trying to find God's Gatherers?" Her voice was
shaky.
"Yes. Are you part of that group?"
The line was silent. There were no clanking dishes or diner
noises on the other end tonight. After an entire minute had passed,
and Joe decided the woman was no longer on the line, her voice
broke the silence. "Um. Yes."
"Are you willingly a part?"
"Not anymore. You know we can't leave, right?"
"I suspected that." The conversation was slow, and Joe
wasn't sure how to encourage the woman to share more with him. It
would help if he could establish a connection with her but he didn't
know anything about her. Without some kind of information, he
didn't have a good place to build a connection. He didn't even know
how she had found him. "What's your name?"
Again, prolonged silence. Finally, Joe spoke again. "You don't
have to tell me."
"My name in the community is Ruth."
“What do you mean in the community?”
 “Brother Josiah gives most of us a name when they come to
the Gatherers.”
Joe hadn’t considered the possibility of adult members
receiving alternative names. He knew that Nathan’s name in the cult
had been Adam after they kidnapped him, but Joe hadn’t run across
anything about adult name changes. Hyrum hadn’t said anything
about his parents, or himself being given an alternative name. “Can
you tell me the name you had before?”
“No.” The response was curt, and the line again fell so silent
that Joe wasn’t sure the caller was still there.
“How long have you lived with God’s Gatherers?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions?”
Joe realized quickly that his efforts to build a connection were
actually driving a wedge. He needed this woman to give him
something, anything to go on. “You left me a message and said you
could help me if I helped you, but I can’t help someone I don’t know
anything about.” Joe tried to sound as genuine as possible.
The line was quiet again. After another minute passed Joe
spoke. “Are you still there?”
No response.
“Hello?”
Still no response. The woman had ended the call.
Joe didn’t know what to make of the woman, or the call. Her
voice was shaky, filled with fear. But, she had given him nothing to
verify her actual involvement with God’s Gatherers. She had barely
given him anything at all. Joe couldn't think of any reason for
someone to seek him out and lie to him about God’s Gatherers, but
the situation was so strange, Joe didn't know what to think.
Joe knew he should try to get a decent night sleep for his
shift the next day, but he couldn’t calm his mind. Just before 2200
Joe decided he needed an outside opinion to help him process the
calls he had gotten from the woman. He considered calling ahead,
but didn’t. When he pulled up in front of the house, Alesha’s Toyota
rested next to Brett’s truck and luckily, several lights were on. Joe
knocked on the front door, without considering what Alesha’s
reaction might be to him showing up.
 Brett answered the door and immediately stepped out onto
the stoop and closed the door behind him. “Thought we discussed
you keeping some distance until Lesh had time to cool off?”
“This isn’t about her. I’ve got to tell you about weird calls I’ve
been getting.”
Joe summed up the message left on his machine, and then
the call from earlier in the night the best he could.
Brett sighed and dropped his shoulders. “You better come in,
too cold to figure this out out here.” Joe followed Brett into the
house and took the same place on the couch that he had taken just
a few hours earlier. “So you said the voice sounds vaguely familiar,
any idea where from?”
“No. For all I know she’s just got one of those familiar voices,
but I can’t place her.”
“I want to know how she found you,” Brett couldn’t think of
any way that news of Joe’s curiosity about the group could have
made it to them. “You don’t think…”
“Brett, who was at the door?” Alesha rounded the corner of
the living room. She immediately stopped, her face telling Joe
everything he needed to know.
“Oh, you.” Alesha stared at Brett for several seconds before
leaving the room without saying anything. Her look hurt Joe. Not
because of what the look meant, but because she looked so much
like Bennie when she was upset. He had come a long way in the last
two months, much of which he felt he had lost in the past week, and
being around Alesha was a double-edged sword. Brett and Alesha
were the only family he had other than Ada. Alesha was one of the
few people who hadn't written him off or treated him like a child.
But, so many things about Alesha reminded him painfully of Bennie.
Brett just stared at Joe for a few moments. Brett didn't know
what to make of the conversation they were having. An inside
source would certainly help Joe gather more information about the
cult. It seemed unlikely though, that the caller, even if genuine, had
pure motives. It didn't help Brett think any clearer knowing he would
have to defend allowing Joe in the house once he and Alesha were
alone. "Anyway, but do ya think the woman somehow knows
Hyram?"
"I guess she could, but he says he doesn't have any contacts
in the group anymore. According to Hyram and Hutchinson he hasn't
spoken to his parents, or any other group members, since he ran
away." Joe's gut told him that Hyram had nothing to do with his
mysterious phone calls. The problem was, Joe's gut didn't tell him
where the calls were coming from.
“Do you think she’ll call you back?”
“I don't know. I was surprised she called me the second time.
She sure didn't give me much to go on.”
"That's true. I think our only option is to table it until she calls
you back. If she calls you back." The calls Joe had gotten were odd.
Something about the caller didn't sit right with Brett. The best thing
he could think of to do, was wait and see if she became a better
informant, or if she disappeared entirely.
Joe and Brett talked for a few more minutes but neither of them
came up with anything useful. Joe stood from the couch and
stretched his legs.
"I better get home. I don't want to show up for my first day
on the new job exhausted, the boss might not like that."
"I don't think the boss will mind you being tired." Brett
chuckled. It was a strange feeling knowing that Joe was returning as
a new officer. It helped Brett process that by joking about it. "The
boss'll probably be exhausted tomorrow, too. It's going to take him
all night to smooth things over with his wife."
The drive back to the ranch was quick but Joe noticed that
the sky was looking slightly reflective. The first snowstorm of the
year was not the way he wanted to start his career back at the
sheriff's department.
When Joe got in the house he checked the machine, hoping
there would be something from the mystery woman. There were no
messages. Joe made his way to bed and stared at the ceiling for
almost an hour before he drifted off to sleep.
When he woke the next morning, there was a skiff of snow
out in the yard. Joe added a layer of long underwear to his uniform,
tied a silk around his neck and grabbed a balaclava just in case. He
guessed that most of his day would be in the office but he wanted to
be prepared in case he had an opportunity to go out on patrol. He
had asked Carl to show up earlier than usual so Joe could line him
out with several jobs before he left for the day. Joe waited as long as
he could before leaving, but Carl still hadn’t shown up. Another
reminder that he needed to find a new hand.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 In addition to the above resolution, the General Assembly of
Virginia “appealed to the other states, in the confidence that they
would concur with that commonwealth, that the acts aforesaid [the
alien and sedition laws] are unconstitutional, and that the necessary
and proper measures would be taken by each for co-operating with
Virginia in maintaining unimpaired the authorities, rights, and
liberties reserved to the states respectively, or to the people.”
The legislatures of several of the New England States, having,
contrary to the expectation of the legislature of Virginia, expressed
their dissent from these doctrines, the subject came up again for
consideration during the session of 1799, 1800, when it was referred
to a select committee, by whom was made that celebrated report
which is familiarly known as “Madison’s Report,” and which deserves
to last as long as the constitution itself. In that report, which was
subsequently adopted by the legislature, the whole subject was
deliberately re-examined, and the objections urged against the
Virginia doctrines carefully considered. The result was, that the
legislature of Virginia reaffirmed all the principles laid down in the
resolutions of 1798, and issued to the world that admirable report
which has stamped the character of Mr. Madison as the preserver of
that constitution which he had contributed so largely to create and
establish. I will here quote from Mr. Madison’s report one or two
passages which bear more immediately on the point in controversy.
“The resolutions, having taken this view of the federal compact,
proceed to infer ‘that in case of a deliberate, palpable, and dangerous
exercise of other powers the states who are parties thereto have the
right, and are in duty bound, to interpose for arresting the progress
of the evil, and for maintaining, within their respective limits, the
authorities, rights, and liberties appertaining to them.’”
“It appears to your committee to be a plain principle, founded in common sense,
illustrated by common practice, and essential to the nature of compacts, that,
where resort can be had to no tribunal superior to the authority of the parties, the
parties themselves must be the rightful judges in the last resort, whether the
bargain made has been pursued or violated. The constitution of the United States
was formed by the sanction of the states, given by each in its sovereign capacity. It
adds to the stability and dignity, as well as to the authority, of the constitution, that
it rests upon this legitimate and solid foundation. The states, then, being the
parties to the constitutional compact, and in their sovereign capacity, it follows of
necessity that there can be no tribunal above their authority, to decide, in the last
resort, whether the compact made by them be violated, and consequently that, as
the parties to it, they must decide, in the last resort, such questions as may be of
sufficient magnitude to require their interposition.”
“The resolution has guarded against any misapprehension of its object by
expressly requiring for such an interposition ‘the case of a deliberate, palpable, and
dangerous breach of the constitution, by the exercise of powers not granted by it.’
It must be a case, not of a light and transient nature, but of a nature dangerous to
the great purposes for which the constitution was established.
“But the resolution has done more than guard against misconstructions, by
expressly referring to cases of a deliberate, palpable, and dangerous nature. It
specifies the object of the interposition, which it contemplates, to be solely that of
arresting the progress of the evil of usurpation, and of maintaining the authorities,
rights, and liberties appertaining to the states, as parties to the constitution.
“From this view of the resolution, it would seem inconceivable that it can incur
any just disapprobation from those who, laying aside all momentary impressions,
and recollecting the genuine source and object of the federal constitution, shall
candidly and accurately interpret the meaning of the General Assembly. If the
deliberate exercise of dangerous powers, palpably withheld by the constitution,
could not justify the parties to it in interposing even so far as to arrest the progress
of the evil, and thereby to preserve the constitution itself, as well as to provide for
the safety of the parties to it, there would be an end to all relief from usurped
power, and a direct subversion of the rights specified or recognized under all the
state constitutions, as well as a plain denial of the fundamental principles on which
our independence itself was declared.”
But, sir, our authorities do not stop here. The state of Kentucky
responded to Virginia, and on the 10th of November, 1798, adopted
those celebrated resolutions, well known to have been penned by the
author of the Declaration of American Independence. In those
resolutions, the legislature of Kentucky declare, “that the
government created by this compact was not made the exclusive or
final judge of the extent of the powers delegated to itself, since that
would have made its discretion, and not the constitution, the
measure of its powers; but that, as in all other cases of compact
among parties having no common judge, each party has an equal
right to judge, for itself, as well of infractions as of the mode and
measure of redress.”
At the ensuing session of the legislature, the subject was re-
examined, and on the 14th of November, 1799, the resolutions of the
preceding year were deliberately reaffirmed, and it was, among other
things, solemnly declared,—
“That, if those who administer the general government be permitted to
transgress the limits fixed by that compact, by a total disregard to the special
delegations of power therein contained, an annihilation of the state governments,
and the erection upon their ruins of a general consolidated government, will be the
inevitable consequence. That the principles of construction contended for by
sundry of the state legislatures, that the general government is the exclusive judge
of the extent of the powers delegated to it, stop nothing short of despotism; since
the discretion of those who administer the government, and not the constitution,
would be the measure of their powers. That the several states who formed that
instrument, being sovereign and independent, have the unquestionable right to
judge of its infraction, and that a nullification, by those sovereignties, of all
unauthorized acts done under color of that instrument, is the rightful remedy.”
Time and experience confirmed Mr. Jefferson’s opinion on this all
important point. In the year 1821, he expressed himself in this
emphatic manner: “It is a fatal heresy to suppose that either our state
governments are superior to the federal, or the federal to the state;
neither is authorized literally to decide which belongs to itself or its
copartner in government; in differences of opinion, between their
different sets of public servants, the appeal is to neither, but to their
employers peaceably assembled by their representatives in
convention.” The opinion of Mr. Jefferson on this subject has been so
repeatedly and so solemnly expressed, that they may be said to have
been the most fixed and settled convictions of his mind.
In the protest prepared by him for the legislature of Virginia, in
December, 1825, in respect to the powers exercised by the federal
government in relation to the tariff and internal improvements,
which he declares to be “usurpations of the powers retained by the
states, mere interpolations into the compact, and direct infractions of
it,” he solemnly reasserts all the principles of the Virginia
Resolutions of ’98, protests against “these acts of the federal branch
of the government as null and void, and declares that, although
Virginia would consider a dissolution of the Union as among the
greatest calamities that could befall them, yet it is not the greatest.
There is one yet greater—submission to a government of unlimited
powers. It is only when the hope of this shall become absolutely
desperate, that further forbearance could not be indulged.”
In his letter to Mr. Giles, written about the same time, he says,—
“I see as you do, and with the deepest affliction, the rapid strides with which the
federal branch of our government is advancing towards the usurpation of all the
rights reserved to the states, and the consolidation in itself of all powers, foreign
and domestic, and that too by constructions which leave no limits to their powers,
&c. Under the power to regulate commerce, they assume, indefinitely, that also
over agriculture and manufactures, &c. Under the authority to establish post roads,
they claim that of cutting down mountains for the construction of roads, and
digging canals, &c. And what is our resource for the preservation of the
constitution? Reason and argument? You might as well reason and argue with the
marble columns encircling them, &c. Are we then to stand to our arms with the
hot-headed Georgian? No; [and I say no, and South Carolina has said no;] that
must be the last resource. We must have patience and long endurance with our
brethren, &c., and separate from our companions only when the sole alternatives
left are a dissolution of our Union with them, or submission. Between these two
evils, when we must make a choice, there can be no hesitation.”
Such, sir, are the high and imposing authorities in support of “The
Carolina doctrine,” which is, in fact, the doctrine of the Virginia
Resolutions of 1798.
Sir, at that day the whole country was divided on this very
question. It formed the line of demarcation between the federal and
republican parties; and the great political revolution which then took
place turned upon the very questions involved in these resolutions.
That question was decided by the people, and by that decision the
constitution was, in the emphatic language of Mr. Jefferson, “saved
at its last gasp.” I should suppose, sir, it would require more self-
respect than any gentleman here would be willing to assume, to treat
lightly doctrines derived from such high resources. Resting on
authority like this, I will ask gentlemen whether South Carolina has
not manifested a high regard for the Union, when, under a tyranny
ten times more grievous than the alien and sedition laws, she has
hitherto gone no further than to petition, remonstrate, and to
solemnly protest against a series of measures which she believes to
be wholly unconstitutional and utterly destructive of her interests.
Sir, South Carolina has not gone one step further than Mr. Jefferson
himself was disposed to go, in relation to the present subject of our
present complaints—not a step further than the statesman from New
England was disposed to go, under similar circumstances; no further
than the senator from Massachusetts himself once considered as
within “the limits of a constitutional opposition.” The doctrine that it
is the right of a state to judge of the violations of the constitution on
the part of the federal government, and to protect her citizens from
the operations of unconstitutional laws, was held by the enlightened
citizens of Boston, who assembled in Faneuil Hall, on the 25th of
January, 1809. They state, in that celebrated memorial, that “they
looked only to the state legislature, who were competent to devise
relief against the unconstitutional acts of the general government.
That your power (say they) is adequate to that object, is evident from
the organization of the confederacy.”
A distinguished senator from one of the New England States, (Mr.
Hillhouse,) in a speech delivered here, on a bill for enforcing the
embargo, declared, “I feel myself bound in conscience to declare,
(lest the blood of those who shall fall in the execution of this measure
shall be on my head,) that I consider this to be an act which directs a
mortal blow at the liberties of my country—an act containing
unconstitutional provisions, to which the people are not bound to
submit, and to which, in my opinion, they will not submit.”
And the senator from Massachusetts himself, in a speech delivered
on the same subject in the other house, said, “This opposition is
constitutional and legal; it is also conscientious. It rests on settled
and sober conviction, that such policy is destructive to the interests
of the people, and dangerous to the being of government. The
experience of every day confirms these sentiments. Men who act
from such motives are not to be discouraged by trifling obstacles, nor
awed by any dangers. They know the limit of constitutional
opposition; up to that limit, at their own discretion, they will walk,
and walk fearlessly.” How “the being of the government” was to be
endangered by “constitutional opposition” to the embargo, I leave
the gentleman to explain.
Thus it will be seen, Mr. President, that the South Carolina
doctrine is the republican doctrine of ’98—that it was promulgated
by the fathers of the faith—that it was maintained by Virginia and
Kentucky in the worst of times—that it constituted the very pivot on
which the political revolution of that day turned—that it embraces
the very principles, the triumph of which, at that time, saved the
constitution at its last gasp, and which New England statesmen were
not unwilling to adopt, when they believed themselves to be the
victims of unconstitutional legislation. Sir, as to the doctrine that the
federal government is the exclusive judge of the extent as well as the
limitations of its powers, it seems to me to be utterly subversive of
the sovereignty and independence of the states. It makes but little
difference, in my estimation, whether Congress or the Supreme
Court are invested with this power. If the federal government, in all,
or any, of its departments, is to prescribe the limits of its own
authority, and the states are bound to submit to the decision, and are
not to be allowed to examine and decide for themselves, when the
barriers of the constitution shall be overleaped, this is practically “a
government without limitation of powers.” The states are at once
reduced to mere petty corporations, and the people are entirely at
your mercy. I have but one word more to add. In all the efforts that
have been made by South Carolina to resist the unconstitutional laws
which Congress has extended over them, she has kept steadily in
view the preservation of the Union, by the only means by which she
believes it can be long preserved—a firm, manly, and steady
resistance against usurpation. The measures of the federal
government have, it is true, prostrated her interests, and will soon
involve the whole south in irretrievable ruin. But even this evil, great
as it is, is not the chief ground of our complaints. It is the principle
involved in the contest—a principle which, substituting the discretion
of Congress for the limitations of the constitution, brings the states
and the people to the feet of the federal government, and leaves them
nothing they can call their own. Sir, if the measures of the federal
government were less oppressive, we should still strive against this
usurpation. The south is acting on a principle she has always held
sacred—resistance to unauthorized taxation. These, sir, are the
principles which induced the immortal Hampden to resist the
payment of a tax of twenty shillings. Would twenty shillings have
ruined his fortune? No! but the payment of half twenty shillings, on
the principle on which it was demanded, would have made him a
slave. Sir, if acting on these high motives—if animated by that ardent
love of liberty which has always been the most prominent trait in the
southern character—we should be hurried beyond the bounds of a
cold and calculating prudence, who is there, with one noble and
generous sentiment in his bosom, that would not be disposed, in the
language of Burke, to exclaim, “You must pardon something to the
spirit of liberty?”
 Webster’s Great Reply to Hayne,

In which he “Expounds the Constitution,” delivered in Senate,

January 26, 1830.
Following Mr. Hayne in the debate, Mr. Webster addressed the
Senate as follows:—
Mr. President: When the mariner has been tossed, for many days,
in thick weather, and on an unknown sea, he naturally avails himself
of the first pause in the storm, the earliest glance of the sun, to take
his latitude, and ascertain how far the elements have driven him
from his true course. Let us imitate this prudence, and before we
float farther, refer to the point from which we departed, that we may
at least be able to conjecture where we now are. I ask for the reading
of the resolution.
[The Secretary read the resolution as follows:
“Resolved, That the committee on public lands be instructed to inquire and
report the quantity of the public lands remaining unsold within each state and
territory, and whether it be expedient to limit, for a certain period, the sales of the
public lands to such lands only as have heretofore been offered for sale, and are
now subject to entry at the minimum price. And, also, whether the office of
surveyor general, and some of the land offices, may not be abolished without
detriment to the public interest; or whether it be expedient to adopt measures to
hasten the sales, and extend more rapidly the surveys of the public lands.”]
We have thus heard, sir, what the resolution is, which is actually
before us for consideration; and it will readily occur to every one that
it is almost the only subject about which something has not been said
in the speech, running through two days, by which the Senate has
been now entertained by the gentleman from South Carolina. Every
topic in the wide range of our public affairs, whether past or present,
—every thing, general or local, whether belonging to national politics
or party politics,—seems to have attracted more or less of the
honorable member’s attention, save only the resolution before us. He
has spoken of every thing but the public lands. They have escaped his
notice. To that subject, in all his excursions, he has not paid even the
cold respect of a passing glance.
When this debate, sir, was to be resumed, on Thursday morning, it
so happened that it would have been convenient for me to be
elsewhere. The honorable member, however, did not incline to put
off the discussion to another day. He had a shot, he said, to return,
and he wished to discharge it. That shot, sir, which it was kind thus
to inform us was coming, that we might stand out of the way, or
prepare ourselves to fall before it, and die with decency, has now
been received. Under all advantages, and with expectation awakened
by the tone which preceded it, it has been discharged, and has spent
its force. It may become me to say no more of its effect than that, if
nobody is found, after all, either killed or wounded by it, it is not the
first time in the history of human affairs that the vigor and success of
the war have not quite come up to the lofty and sounding phrase of
the manifesto.
The gentleman, sir, in declining to postpone the debate, told the
Senate, with the emphasis of his hand upon his heart, that there was
something rankling here, which he wished to relieve. [Mr. Hayne
rose and disclaimed having used the word rankling.] It would not,
Mr. President, be safe for the honorable member to appeal to those
around him, upon the question whether he did, in fact, make use of
that word. But he may have been unconscious of it. At any rate, it is
enough that he disclaims it. But still, with or without the use of that
particular word, he had yet something here, he said, of which he
wished to rid himself by an immediate reply. In this respect, sir, I
have a great advantage over the honorable gentleman. There is
nothing here, sir, which gives me the slightest uneasiness; neither
fear, nor anger, nor that which is sometimes more troublesome than
either, the consciousness of having been in the wrong. There is
nothing either originating here, or now received here, by the
gentleman’s shot. Nothing original, for I had not the slightest feeling
of disrespect or unkindness towards the honorable member. Some
passages, it is true, had occurred, since our acquaintance in this
body, which I could have wished might have been otherwise; but I
had used philosophy, and forgotten them. When the honorable
member rose, in his first speech, I paid him the respect of attentive
listening; and when he sat down, though surprised, and I must say
even astonished, at some of his opinions, nothing was farther from
my intention than to commence any personal warfare; and through
the whole of the few remarks I made in answer, I avoided, studiously
and carefully, every thing which I thought possible to be construed
into disrespect. And, sir, while there is thus nothing originating here,
which I wished at any time, or now wish to discharge, I must repeat,
also, that nothing has been received here which rankles, or in any
way gives me annoyance. I will not accuse the honorable member of
violating the rules of civilized war—I will not say that he poisoned his
arrows. But whether his shafts were, or were not, dipped in that
which would have caused rankling if they had reached, there was not,
as it happened, quite strength enough in the bow to bring them to
their mark. If he wishes now to find those shafts, he must look for
them elsewhere; they will not be found fixed and quivering in the
object at which they were aimed.

The honorable member complained that I had slept on his speech.

I must have slept on it, or not slept at all. The moment the honorable
member sat down, his friend from Missouri arose, and, with much
honeyed commendation of the speech, suggested that the
impressions which it had produced were too charming and delightful
to be disturbed by other sentiments or other sounds, and proposed
that the Senate should adjourn. Would it have been quite amiable in
me, sir, to interrupt this excellent good feeling? Must I not have been
absolutely malicious, if I could have thrust myself forward to destroy
sensations thus pleasing? Was it not much better and kinder, both to
sleep upon them myself, and to allow others, also, the pleasure of
sleeping upon them? But if it be meant, by sleeping upon his speech,
that I took time to prepare a reply to it, it is quite a mistake; owing to
other engagements, I could not employ even the interval between the
adjournment of the Senate and its meeting the next morning in
attention to the subject of this debate. Nevertheless, sir, the mere
matter of fact is undoubtedly true—I did sleep on the gentleman’s
speech, and slept soundly. And I slept equally well on his speech of
yesterday, to which I am now replying. It is quite possible that, in
this respect, also, I possess some advantage over the honorable
member, attributable, doubtless, to a cooler temperament on my
part; for in truth I slept upon his speeches remarkably well. But the
gentleman inquires why he was made the object of such a reply. Why
was he singled out? If an attack had been made on the east, he, he
assures us, did not begin it—it was the gentleman from Missouri. Sir,
I answered the gentleman’s speech, because I happened to hear it;
and because, also, I choose to give an answer to that speech, which, if
unanswered, I thought most likely to produce injurious impressions.
I did not stop to inquire who was the original drawer of the bill. I
found a responsible endorser before me, and it was my purpose to
hold him liable, and to bring him to his just responsibility without
delay. But, sir, this interrogatory of the honorable member was only
introductory to another. He proceeded to ask me whether I had
turned upon him in this debate from the consciousness that I should
find an overmatch if I ventured on a contest with his friend from
Missouri. If, sir, the honorable member, ex gratia modestiæ, had
chosen thus to defer to his friend, and to pay him a compliment,
without intentional disparagement to others, it would have been
quite according to the friendly courtesies of debate, and not at all
ungrateful to my own feelings. I am not one of those, sir, who esteem
any tribute of regard, whether light and occasional, or more serious
and deliberate, which may be bestowed on others, as so much
unjustly withholden from themselves. But the tone and manner of
the gentleman’s question, forbid me thus to interpret it. I am not at
liberty to consider it as nothing more than a civility to his friend. It
had an air of taunt and disparagement, a little of the loftiness of
asserted superiority, which does not allow me to pass it over without
notice. It was put as a question for me to answer, and so put as if it
were difficult for me to answer, whether I deemed the member from
Missouri an overmatch for myself in debate here. It seems to me, sir,
that is extraordinary language, and an extraordinary tone for the
discussions of this body.
Matches and overmatches? Those terms are more applicable
elsewhere than here, and fitter for other assemblies than this. Sir, the
gentleman seems to forget where and what we are. This is a Senate; a
Senate of equals; of men of individual honor and personal character,
and of absolute independence. We know no masters; we
acknowledge no dictators. This is a hall of mutual consultation and
discussion, not an arena for the exhibition of champions. I offer
myself, sir, as a match for no man; I throw the challenge of debate at
no man’s feet. But, then, sir, since the honorable member has put the
question in a manner that calls for an answer. I will give him an
answer; and I tell him that, holding myself to be the humblest of the
members here, I yet know nothing in the arm of his friend from
Missouri, either alone or when aided by the arm of his friend from
South Carolina, that need deter even me from espousing whatever
opinions I may choose to espouse, from debating whenever I may
choose to debate, or from speaking whatever I may see fit to say on
the floor of the Senate. Sir, when uttered as matter of commendation
or compliment, I should dissent from nothing which the honorable
member might say of his friend. Still less do I put forth any
pretensions of my own. But when put to me as a matter of taunt, I
throw it back, and say to the gentleman that he could possibly say
nothing less likely than such a comparison to wound my pride of
personal character. The anger of its tone rescued the remark from
intentional irony, which otherwise, probably, would have been its
general acceptation. But, sir, if it be imagined that by this mutual
quotation and commendation; if it be supposed that, by casting the
characters of the drama, assigning to each his part,—to one the
attack, to another the cry of onset,—or if it be thought that by a loud
and empty vaunt of anticipated victory any laurels are to be won
here; if it be imagined, especially, that any or all these things will
shake any purpose of mine, I can tell the honorable member, once for
all, that he is greatly mistaken, and that he is dealing with one of
whose temper and character he has yet much to learn. Sir, I shall not
allow myself, on this occasion—I hope on no occasion—to be
betrayed into any loss of temper; but if provoked, as I trust I never
shall allow myself to be, into crimination and recrimination, the
honorable member may, perhaps, find that in that contest there will
be blows to take as well as blows to give; that others can state
comparisons as significant, at least, as his own; and that his impunity
may, perhaps, demand of him whatever powers of taunt and sarcasm
he may possess. I commend him to a prudent husbandry of his
resources.
But, sir, the coalition! The coalition! Aye, “the murdered
coalition!” The gentleman asks if I were led or frighted into this
debate by the spectre of the coalition. “Was it the ghost of the
murdered coalition,” he exclaims, “which haunted the member from
Massachusetts, and which, like the ghost of Banquo, would never
down?” “The murdered coalition!” Sir, this charge of a coalition, in
reference to the late administration, is not original with the
honorable member. It did not spring up in the Senate. Whether as a
fact, as an argument, or as an embellishment, it is all borrowed. He
adopts it, indeed, from a very low origin, and a still lower present
condition. It is one of the thousand calumnies with which the press
teemed during an excited political canvass. It was a charge of which
there was not only no proof or probability, but which was, in itself,
wholly impossible to be true. No man of common information ever
believed a syllable of it. Yet it was of that class of falsehoods which,
by continued repetition through all the organs of detraction and
abuse, are capable of misleading those who are already far misled,
and of further fanning passion already kindling into flame. Doubtless
it served its day, and, in a greater or less degree, the end designed by
it. Having done that, it has sunk into the general mass of stale and
loathed calumnies. It is the very castoff slough of a polluted and
shameless press. Incapable of further mischief, it lies in the sewer
lifeless and despised. It is not now, sir, in the power of the honorable
member to give it dignity or decency, by attempting to elevate it, and
to introduce it into the Senate. He cannot change it from what it is—
an object of general disgust and scorn. On the contrary, the contact,
if he choose to touch it, is more likely to drag him down, down, to the
place where it lies itself.
But, sir, the honorable member was not, for other reasons, entirely
happy in his allusion to the story of Banquo’s murder and Banquo’s
ghost. It was not, I think, the friends, but the enemies of the
murdered Banquo, at whose bidding his spirit would not down. The
honorable gentleman is fresh in his reading of the English classics,
and can put me right if I am wrong; but according to my poor
recollection, it was at those who had begun with caresses, and ended
with foul and treacherous murder, that the gory locks were shaken.
The ghost of Banquo, like that of Hamlet, was an honest ghost. It
disturbed no innocent man. It knew where its appearance would
strike terror, and who would cry out. A ghost! It made itself visible in
the right quarter, and compelled the guilty, and the conscience-
smitten, and none others, to start, with,
“Prithee, see there! behold!—look! lo!
If I stand here, I saw him!”

Their eyeballs were seared—was it not so, sir?—who had thought

to shield themselves by concealing their own hand and laying the
imputation of the crime on a low and hireling agency in wickedness;
who had vainly attempted to stifle the workings of their own coward
consciences, by circulating, through white lips and chattering teeth,
“Thou canst not say I did it!” I have misread the great poet, if it was
those who had no way partaken in the deed of the death, who either
found that they were, or feared that they should be, pushed from
their stools by the ghost of the slain, or who cried out to a spectre
created by their own fears, and their own remorse, “Avaunt! and quit
our sight!”
There is another particular, sir, in which the honorable member’s
quick perception of resemblances might, I should think, have seen
something in the story of Banquo, making it not altogether a subject
of the most pleasant contemplation. Those who murdered Banquo,
what did they win by it? Substantial good? Permanent power? Or
disappointment, rather, and sore mortification—dust and ashes—the
common fate of vaulting ambition overleaping itself? Did not even-
handed justice, ere long, commend the poisoned chalice to their own
lips? Did they not soon find that for another they had “filed their
mind?” that their ambition though apparently for the moment
successful, had but put a barren sceptre in their grasp? Aye, sir,—
“A barren sceptre in their gripe,
Thence to be wrenched by an unlineal hand,
No son of theirs succeeding.”

Sir, I need pursue the allusion no further. I leave the honorable

gentleman to run it out at his leisure, and to derive from it all the
gratification it is calculated to administer. If he finds himself pleased
with the associations, and prepared to be quite satisfied, though the
parallel should be entirely completed, I had almost said I am
satisfied also—but that I shall think of. Yes, sir, I will think of that.
In the course of my observations the other day, Mr. President, I
paid a passing tribute of respect to a very worthy man, Mr. Dane, of
Massachusetts. It so happened that he drew the ordinance of 1787 for
the government of the Northwestern Territory. A man of so much
ability, and so little pretence; of so great a capacity to do good, and so
unmixed a disposition to do it for its own sake; a gentleman who
acted an important part, forty years ago, in a measure the influence
of which is still deeply felt in the very matter which was the subject of
debate, might, I thought, receive from me a commendatory
recognition.
But the honorable gentleman was inclined to be facetious on the
subject. He was rather disposed to make it a matter of ridicule that I
had introduced into the debate the name of one Nathan Dane, of
whom he assures us he had never before heard. Sir, if the honorable
member had never before heard of Mr. Dane, I am sorry for it. It
shows him less acquainted with the public men of the country than I
had supposed. Let me tell him, however, that a sneer from him at the
mention of the name of Mr. Dane is in bad taste. It may well be a
high mark of ambition, sir, either with the honorable gentleman or
myself, to accomplish as much to make our names known to
advantage, and remembered with gratitude, as Mr. Dane has
accomplished. But the truth is, sir, I suspect that Mr. Dane lives a
little too far north. He is of Massachusetts, and too near the north
star to be reached by the honorable gentleman’s telescope. If his
sphere had happened to range south of Mason and Dixon’s line, he
might, probably, have come within the scope of his vision!
 I spoke, sir, of the ordinance of 1787, which prohibited slavery in
all future times northwest of the Ohio, as a measure of great wisdom
and foresight, and one which had been attended with highly
beneficial and permanent consequences. I suppose that on this point
no two gentlemen in the Senate could entertain different opinions.
But the simple expression of this sentiment has led the gentleman,
not only into a labored defence of slavery in the abstract, and on
principle, but also into a warm accusation against me, as having
attacked the system of slavery now existing in the Southern States.
For all this there was not the slightest foundation in anything said or
intimated by me. I did not utter a single word which any ingenuity
could torture into an attack on the slavery of the South. I said only
that it was highly wise and useful in legislating for the northwestern
country, while it was yet a wilderness, to prohibit the introduction of
slaves; and added, that I presumed, in the neighboring state of
Kentucky, there was no reflecting and intelligent gentleman who
would doubt that, if the same prohibition had been extended, at the
same early period, over that commonwealth, her strength and
population would, at this day, have been far greater than they are. If
these opinions be thought doubtful, they are, nevertheless, I trust,
neither extraordinary nor disrespectful. They attack nobody and
menace nobody. And yet, sir, the gentleman’s optics have discovered,
even in the mere expression of this sentiment, what he calls the very
spirit of the Missouri question! He represents me as making an
attack on the whole south, and manifesting a spirit which would
interfere with and disturb their domestic condition. Sir, this injustice
no otherwise surprises me than as it is done here, and done without
the slightest pretence of ground for it. I say it only surprises me as
being done here; for I know full well that it is and has been the
settled policy of some persons in the south, for years, to represent
the people of the north as disposed to interfere with them in their
own exclusive and peculiar concerns. This is a delicate and sensitive
point in southern feeling; and of late years it has always been
touched, and generally with effect, whenever the object has been to
unite the whole south against northern men or northern measures.
This feeling, always carefully kept alive, and maintained at too
intense a heat to admit discrimination or reflection, is a lever of great
power in our political machine. It moves vast bodies, and gives to
them one and the same direction. But the feeling is without adequate
cause, and the suspicion which exists wholly groundless. There is
not, and never has been, a disposition in the north to interfere with
these interests of the south. Such interference has never been
supposed to be within the power of the government, nor has it been
in any way attempted. It has always been regarded as a matter of
domestic policy, left with the states themselves, and with which the
federal government had nothing to do. Certainly, sir, I am, and ever
had been, of that opinion. The gentleman, indeed, argues that slavery
in the abstract is no evil. Most assuredly I need not say I differ with
him altogether and most widely on that point. I regard domestic
slavery as one of the greatest evils, both moral and political. But,
though it be a malady, and whether it be curable, and if so, by what
means; or, on the other hand, whether it be the culnus immedicabile
of the social system, I leave it to those whose right and duty it is to
inquire and to decide. And this I believe, sir, is, and uniformly has
been, the sentiment of the north. Let us look a little at the history of
this matter.
When the present constitution was submitted for the ratification of
the people, there were those who imagined that the powers of the
government which it proposed to establish might, perhaps, in some
possible mode, be exerted in measures tending to the abolition of
slavery. This suggestion would, of course, attract much attention in
the southern conventions. In that of Virginia, Governor Randolph
said:—
“I hope there is none here, who, considering the subject in the
calm light of philosophy, will make an objection dishonorable to
Virginia—that, at the moment they are securing the rights of their
citizens, an objection is started, that there is a spark of hope that
those unfortunate men now held in bondage may, by the operation of
the general government, be made free.”
At the very first Congress, petitions on the subject were presented,
if I mistake not, from different states. The Pennsylvania Society for
promoting the Abolition of Slavery, took a lead, and laid before
Congress a memorial, praying Congress to promote the abolition by
such powers as it possessed. This memorial was referred, in the
House of Representatives, to a select committee, consisting of Mr.
Foster, of New Hampshire, Mr. Gerry, of Massachusetts, Mr.
Huntington, of Connecticut, Mr. Lawrence, of New York, Mr.
Dickinson, of New Jersey, Mr. Hartley, of Pennsylvania, and Mr.
Parker, of Virginia; all of them, sir, as you will observe, northern
men, but the last. This committee made a report, which was
committed to a committee of the whole house, and there considered
and discussed on several days; and being amended, although in no
material respect, it was made to express three distinct propositions
on the subjects of slavery and the slave trade. First, in the words of
the constitution, that Congress could not, prior to the year 1808,
prohibit the migration or importation of such persons as any of the
states then existing should think proper to admit. Second, that
Congress had authority to restrain the citizens of the United States
from carrying on the African slave trade for the purpose of supplying
foreign countries. On this proposition, our early laws against those
who engage in that traffic are founded. The third proposition, and
that which bears on the present question, was expressed in the
following terms:—
“Resolved, That Congress have no authority to interfere in the emancipation of
slaves, or of the treatment of them in any of the states; it remaining with the
several states alone to provide rules and regulations therein, which humanity and
true policy may require.”
This resolution received the sanction of the House of
Representatives so early as March, 1790. And, now, sir, the
honorable member will allow me to remind him, that not only were
the select committee who reported the resolution, with a single
exception, all northern men, but also that of the members then
composing the House of Representatives, a large majority, I believe
nearly two-thirds, were northern men also.
The house agreed to insert these resolutions in its journal; and,
from that day to this, it has never been maintained or contended that
Congress had any authority to regulate or interfere with the
condition of slaves in the several states. No northern gentleman, to
my knowledge, has moved any such question in either house of
Congress.
The fears of the south, whatever fears they might have entertained,
were allayed and quieted by this early decision; and so remained, till
they were excited afresh, without cause, but for collateral and
indirect purposes. When it became necessary, or was thought so, by
some political persons, to find an unvarying ground for the exclusion
of northern men from confidence and from lead in the affairs of the
republic, then, and not till then, the cry was raised, and the feeling
industriously excited, that the influence of northern men in the
public councils would endanger the relation of master and slave. For
myself, I claim no other merit, than that this gross and enormous
injustice towards the whole north has not wrought upon me to
change my opinions, or my political conduct. I hope I am above
violating my principles, even under the smart of injury and false
imputations. Unjust suspicions and undeserved reproach, whatever
pain I may experience from them, will not induce me, I trust,
nevertheless, to overstep the limits of constitutional duty, or to
encroach on the rights of others. The domestic slavery of the south I
leave where I find it—in the hands of their own governments. It is
their affair, not mine. Nor do I complain of the peculiar effect which
the magnitude of that population has had in the distribution of
power under this federal government. We know, sir, that the
representation of the states in the other house is not equal. We know
that great advantage, in that respect, is enjoyed by the slaveholding
states; and we know, too, that the intended equivalent for that
advantage—that is to say, the imposition of direct taxes in the same
ratio—has become merely nominal; the habit of the government
being almost invariably to collect its revenues from other sources,
and in other modes. Nevertheless, I do not complain; nor would I
countenance any movement to alter this arrangement of
representation. It is the original bargain, the compact—let it stand;
let the advantage of it be fully enjoyed. The Union itself is too full of
benefit to be hazarded in propositions for changing its original basis.
I go for the constitution as it is, and for the Union as it is. But I am
resolved not to submit, in silence, to accusations, either against
myself individually, or against the north, wholly unfounded and
unjust—accusations which impute to us a disposition to evade the
constitutional compact, and to extend the power of the government
over the internal laws and domestic condition of the states. All such
accusations, wherever and whenever made, all insinuations of the
existence of any such purposes, I know and feel to be groundless and
injurious. And we must confide in southern gentlemen themselves;
we must trust to those whose integrity of heart and magnanimity of
feeling will lead them to a desire to maintain and disseminate truth,
and who possess the means of its diffusion with the southern public;
we must leave it to them to disabuse that public of its prejudices. But,
in the mean time, for my own part, I shall continue to act justly,
whether those towards whom justice is exercised receive it with
candor or with contumely.
Having had occasion to recur to the ordinance of 1787, in order to
defend myself against the inferences which the honorable member
has chosen to draw from my former observations on that subject, I
am not willing now entirely to take leave of it without another
remark. It need hardly be said, that that paper expresses just
sentiments on the great subject of civil and religious liberty. Such
sentiments were common, and abound in all our state papers of that
day. But this ordinance did that which was not so common, and
which is not, even now, universal; that is, it set forth and declared, as
a high and binding duty of government itself, to encourage schools
and advance the means of education; on the plain reason that
religion, morality and knowledge are necessary to good government,
and to the happiness of mankind. One observation further. The
important provision incorporated into the constitution of the United
States, and several of those of the states, and recently, as we have
seen, adopted into the reformed constitution of Virginia, restraining
legislative power, in questions of private right, and from impairing
the obligation of contracts, is first introduced and established, as far
as I am informed, as matter of express written constitutional law, in
this ordinance of 1787. And I must add, also, in regard to the author
of the ordinance, who has not had the happiness to attract the
gentleman’s notice heretofore, nor to avoid his sarcasm now, that he
was chairman of that select committee of the old Congress, whose
report first expressed the strong sense of that body, that the old
confederation was not adequate to the exigencies of the country, and
recommending to the states to send delegates to the convention
which formed the present constitution.
An attempt has been made to transfer from the north to the south
the honor of this exclusion of slavery from the Northwestern
territory. The journal, without argument or comment, refutes such
attempt. The session of Virginia was made March, 1784. On the 19th
of April following, a committee, consisting of Messrs. Jefferson,
Chase and Howell, reported a plan for a temporary government of
the territory, in which was this article: “That after the year 1800,
there should be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude in any of
the said states, otherwise than in punishment of crimes, whereof the
party shall have been convicted.” Mr. Speight, of North Carolina,
moved to strike out this paragraph. The question was put according
to the form then practiced: “Shall, these words stand, as part of the
plan?” &c. New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island,
Connecticut, New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania—seven states
—voted in the affirmative; Maryland, Virginia and South Carolina, in
the negative. North Carolina was divided. As the consent of nine
states was necessary, the words could not stand, and were struck out
accordingly. Mr. Jefferson voted for the clause, but was overruled by
his colleagues.
In March of the next year (1785) Mr. King, of Massachusetts,
seconded by Mr. Ellery, of Rhode Island, proposed the formerly
rejected article, with this addition: “And that this regulation shall be
an article of compact, and remain a fundamental principle of the
constitution between the thirteen original states and each of the
states described in the resolve,” &c. On this clause, which provided
the adequate and thorough security, the eight Northern States, at
that time, voted affirmatively, and the four Southern States
negatively. The votes of nine states were not yet obtained, and thus
the provision was again rejected by the Southern States. The
perseverance of the north held out, and two years afterwards the
object was attained. It is no derogation from the credit, whatever that
may be, of drawing the ordinance, that its principles had before been
prepared and discussed, in the form of resolutions. If one should
reason in that way, what would become of the distinguished honor of
the author of the declaration of Independence? There is not a
sentiment in that paper which had not been voted and resolved in
the assemblies, and other popular bodies in the country, over and
over again.
But the honorable member has now found out that this gentleman,
Mr. Dane, was a member of the Hartford Convention. However
uninformed the honorable member may be of characters and
occurrences at the north, it would seem that he has at his elbows, on
this occasion, some highminded and lofty spirit, some magnanimous
and true-hearted monitor, possessing the means of local knowledge,
and ready to supply the honorable member with every thing, down