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The Truth Of Harmon McCoy's Death
Brock POV:
I was outside, collectin' some wood for my stove and to make my nightly fire with, whenever I heard horse hooves trottin' up. I figured it might've been a client makin' a call before dinner so I didn't pay it any mind. I should've tho since it wasn't a client that showed up, but my reporter friend T.C. and his German photographer. I noticed it was them whenever I lifted my head up right before standin' up with an armful of wood. I furrowed my brow as they hitched up their horses, that were loaded with supplies. "Hasn't even been a whole month yet; you're back for a new story already?" I asked, makin' my way over to my front porch.
"After Asa. M. Merriweather's expose in The Examiner last Friday my editor wanted me to interview Mr. McCoy and his family about the details of his brother's death. Wants to know if it truly was a murder or not." T.C. explained while he and his photographer unloaded their supplies from their horses.
"Randall will swear it was a murder, but if you want one hell of a reaction to Harmon's death then you need to interview his orphaned kids." I told him, knowing that Nancy would be one hell of an interview for his story. Hell, that shrew'd sell a million copies of the Globe with her hateful attitude about her father's murder.
"Really, and where may I find them?" My friend asked, holding bags in each hand while having a satchel slung over his shoulder.
"Jefferson lives with the mailman, Fred Wolford, since he's married to the man's sister while Nancy lives with her husband, Abel Freeland, in the far upper corner of Logan County." I told T.C. while making my way up my front porch and over to the door.
"Nancy McCoy lives in West Virginia despite all of the trouble going on?" T.C. asked in a shocked tone as I opened up my door and walked inside.
"Yea, but the real kicker is that she's married to Cap Hatfield's brother-in-law." I chuckled, walking past the entranceway and down the hall towards my kitchen while T.C. followed behind me (after leaving his bags at the door, of course).
"Jesus Christ…just when I thought this feud couldn't get any messier." My friend sighed as I placed the wood pile into a cast iron holder.
Turning to my friend, right as the front door slammed shut (indicatin' the the German photographer was in the house), I nodded, "Oh, it's messy alright. You just gotta know the right stones to upturn to find the mess."
"Well, Brock, if you don't mind we'll need to stay with you for a few days." T.C. told me right as I heard the sounds of footsteps creaking up the staircase, giving way to the fact that the photographer was showin' himself to one of my guestrooms.
I crossed the kitchen and grabbed the coffee pot, which had some stale drops leftover in it, only to bring it over to the sink and fill it up for a fresh brew while tellin' T.C., "That's fine, but next time I'd advise you to look into renting a room indefinitely at Pikeville's boardin' house cause I think you'll be makin' frequent trips here since your paper's rival's got their claws into the Hatfields."
"Seems that being a senator's son paid off for Asa since he works for the paper Senator Hearst bought for his son." T.C. dryly scoffed, taking a seat while I put the coffee pot onto the stove.
"Seems that way, but don't worry you're a much better writer then him; I'm sure your articles will get the Globe more readers then that San Francisco paper'll ever have." I honestly told my friend while going over to the wood pile to grab a log to feed the flames of my stove with.
"I hope so since, unlike him, I actually had to use my talent to acquire my job." T.C. remarked while I tossed a log into my stove and poked it with a stoker, makin' the lowlyin' flames come to life.
"Don't worry, more people read the New York Globe then The Examiner." I assured my friend while closin' the stove's cast iron door. I went over to the table and took a seat across from my friend while smirking, "Plus you're the better writer; will make a name for yourself from these expose articles."
Allie POV:
Easter service this year felt a bit tense. Everyone was on guard, secretly waitin' to see if a bounty hunter would barge in lookin' for the men listed on those damned posters Perry printed and distributed across the entire goddamn country. Also, the men from The Examiner, Asa M. Merriweather and Larry Greves, were still in town too. Apparently, they were currently living in the King's Hotel; waiting on word to write another story on my father-in-law and in extension my family, the Hatfields. I haven't spoken to them, but Cap did once when he was in town and said that they were stand up fellas.
In fact, the men from The Examiner were sitting right behind me and Cap in church. I think they were taking notes and making sketches for an upcomin' story instead of listenin' to Reverend Garrett's sermon of bein' washed and saved by the blood of the lamb. I did feel eyes borin' into the back of my head durin' the service too. When I subtly looked around, trying to figure out who was lookin' at me, I noticed that Abel and his shrew of a wife were sitting on the McCoys' side of the church; were starin' at me too. I just shot them a funny look and went back to payin' attention to the service.
I did notice tho that not many McCoys were in church this Easter Sunday, albeit for Nancy and my brother, Jefferson and the mailman's family, Squirrel, Parris, their women, and their mother. Oh, and I also noticed some guy (that I swear could pass as Billy Russo from The Punisher) sittin' on the McCoys' side; he was lookin' at Jessa and Endor, who was on her lap nappin' with his bright redhead resting on her shoulder, with intrigue. Oh no, I bet his wheels are turnin' and he's puttin' two and two together about Endor being Tolbert's and not Shaw's. Yikes, if he tells Randall or Perry Cline that piece of information then I'm sure the feud'll get deadlier then it's supposed to be.
I knew Jessa should've runaway with Tolbert a long time ago…
Jessa POV:
For some insane reason I found myself sitting in the front pew during Reverend Garrett's Easter service. If you ask me, going to church with a price on your head's foolish, but as it turns out the Hatfields were fools. Haughty, conceited fools that thought they were untouchable cause they had so many allies in West Virginia, including the newly appointed assistant secretary in Governor Wilson's office, John B. Floyd. God, I felt like a sitting duck in the pew with my husband, children (which included Cotton), brother-in-law, father-in-law, and all my other in-laws surrounding me while across the aisle sat some McCoys and their allies. I knew that the McCoys, if they figured out the truth about Endor, might either damn my soul or want to save it, but I also knew that my husband was one of the prime villains in their eyes. Hell, Shaw was right below Devil Anse when it came to villainy and ruthlessness in the opinions of the McCoys.
If I'm to be completely honest, I'm afraid that my drunken husband (who I highly doubt is truly sober) is capable of anything. His hatred of the McCoys only grew tenfold with that article the New York Globe wrote. He's always mutterin' some kind of nasty slur about McCoys and I'm afraid that the more Endor grows the more Shaw's going to be mutterin' his hateful nonsense.
Dear lord, I sure did feel uncomfortable both sitting in my pew and in life in general.
Shaw shifted in his seat, nearly elbowing Sully in the arm and almost causing Silas to fall off of his lap, as Reverend Garrett roared in a righteous tone, "The almighty lord god knew that our sinful nature would overwhelm us and that's why he sent us his only son, our savior Jesus Christ, to be our sacrificial lamb; to wash our sins away in his righteous blood. Oh, I implore you, become washed in the blood of the lamb to clean yourself of sin for this horrid time calls for it!" He banged his hand on the pulpit, as if it was a gavel, and bellowed, "This Easter Sunday is the time for all to atone for their sins and to be washed by the blood that our lord and savior, Jesus Christ, shed for us on the cross so that our immortal souls shall be saved; that we'll be able to enter paradise and have a mansion in heaven." The Reverend looked over the congregation while preaching the word of, "Durin' this time of bloodshed where neighbors are pitted 'gainst neighbors we all must be washed in the blood of the lamb and saved for no one knows the exact hour one's end will come."
Well, isn't this such an inspirational Easter message. I think this would be the time to preach about unity, love, and friendship, instead of getting saved cause your neighbor might kill you. Well, Reverend Garrett sure is a one of a kind preacher, I'll give him that. He goes above and beyond when it comes to the fire and brimstone style sermons.
Reverend Garrett took a deep breath before bowing his head and saying, "Let us end in a prayer of salvation." The entire congregation followed suit and bowed their heads, causing the Reverend to say the prayer of, "Lord, we pray that you save the sinners in this congregation this mornin'. Our, we ask to be washed in the blood of the lamb; to be made as pure as the driven snow. Oh, we pray this in the name of Jesus Christ, our precious savior." Lifting up his head, he simply ended the prayer with the word of, "Amen."
The entire congregation parroted, "Amen.", while lifting up their heads.
Silently, Reverend Garrett rounded the pulpit and walked down the aisle, towards the large double doors. Everyone stood up and started to file out of their pews since the service was officially over. As we were slowly walking down the aisle and emerging into the large crowd of others trying to leave, I felt Shaw tense by my side. Looking up at him, I asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothin', babe. Just wanna get to the main house for dinner's all." Shaw tightly smiled in a vain attempt to assure me that he was fine. I knew him; he wasn't 'fine'.
I just nodded and let it go. If he didn't want to tell me what was bothering him, then so be it. I wasn't going to push him; I was pregnant and didn't need any extra stress. I mean I was stressed out enough as it was.
Eventually the crowd, us included, said our goodbyes to the Reverend and exited the church. While walking over to our wagon, Shaw got a bit stiff. I followed his gaze only to see that he was giving some man (Who I swear was the incarnate of Billy Russo. Oh god, how I miss Netfilx…) the evil eye as he unhitched his horse and mounted it a few paces away from where our wagon was at.
The man didn't seem to pay Shaw any mind. In fact as he rode by us, into the direction that'd take us to Kentucky, he just tipped his hat politely. I couldn't help, but to wonder who that man was. So much so, that after my family was settle into our wagon, I looked at my husband and asked, "Who was the man that rode by?"
"Brock Brooksdale." Shaw dryly answered, snapping the reigns and pulling our wagon out of its parking spot.
"He's Senator Brooksdale's brother, the lawyer with the New York reporter friend." I stated, not asked, as my husband drove us down the road.
My husband didn't say a word, just snapped the reigns to make the horses speed up the wagon.
New York Globe:
New York Globe- Tuesday, March 27, 1883
Murdered By Hatfields- The Truth Of Harmon McCoy's Death
By: T.C. Crawford
A few weeks after my visit to the Appalachian Mountains I find myself back there only to cover another investigative story. This time it's to counter and fact check the claim that Devil Anse made in The Examiner about his uncle, Jim Vance, being innocent of the crime that's the murder of Harmon McCoy, a former Union soldier who was the younger brother of Randall McCoy. I couldn't help, but to doubt the claim of innonce on Jim Vance's part in Harmon McCoy's murder, especially since Randall McCoy seemed like such an honest and emotionally tortured man when I last interviewed him.
Once again, I stayed at my friend Lawyer Brooksdale's house in Prestonsburg, a good half an hour or so away from downtown Pikeville, while on assignment. This visit he wasn't as warm of a host; even told me to rent a room at the boarding house in Pikeville for my next story. Hmm, he seems to think that I'll be spending lots of time here covering this feud. Perhaps he's right; perhaps he's wrong. Only you, the readers, are in true control of whether or not I continue these investigative pieces.
Anyways, after resting up from traveling at my friend's house for a couple of days I went straight to Pikeville to interview Randall McCoy. Since I knew he spent most of his days at the law office of Lawyer Cline, I went there. As before, when I entered the office, I was met with the pitiful sight of Mister McCoy slumped on the leather sofa in Lawyer Cline's office, drinking his sorrows away. Lawyer Cline was going over some paperwork while his assistant, Mister Landon, was reading a book.
"Hello, I hope you're faring well." I greeted the men as I walked deeper into the office.
The assistant didn't say a word, but Randall gruffly wallowed, "How do you think I can fare well when my sons' murderers go unpunished?"
Lawyer Cline's shoulders squared and his spine stiffened as he sat straight up and looked at me. "I'm sorry, Mr. Crawford, but Randall's not in the right mindset to be doing any interviews today, but I'm sure I can answer any questions since, after all, we're cousins and share the same family woes."
I had to admit that I was a it apprehensive about asking Lawyer Cline questions about Harmon McCoy's murder, but as he said he was a cousin and knew the family heartbreaks and hardships as well as Randall did. So, even though I was a bit apprehensive about it, I relented and told Lawyer Cline, "Very well, then I'd like to interview you about Harmon McCoy's death.", while making my way over to his desk.
My photographer was setting up his equipment as I took a seat at Lawyer Cline's desk while the man simply nodded and told me, "I can ask anything you want to know." With a foxlike grin, he nodded, "Ask away, Mister Crawford."
I took out my pad and pencil; flipping the pad open only to bluntly ask, "Was Union officer and Kentucky native Harmon McCoy murdered by Jim Vance, the uncle of Devil Anse Hatfield back in '63?"
"Yes, my cousin was murdered by Jim Vance." Lawyer Cline answered with a curt nod. As I wrote down his answer, he let out a low huff and went on a small, but informative rant of, "That odious, ornery, foul tempered and hateful man murdered Harmon in cold blood. All my cousin did was fight for the Union, but Jim Vance killed him for it because the man was a diehard Confederate that was in charge of the home guard, which in itself was a guerrilla unit."
"Oh, so Jim Vance-" I began to ask only to be cut off by Lawyer's Cline's abrupt words of, "Jim Vance is a cancer to humanity. He has no soul; kills anyone that crosses his path or rubs him the wrong way. In fact, according to Harmon's late widow, Martha, Jim Vance killed Harmon over words said about a hound dog."
"He murdered a man over a hound dog?" I asked, my brow arched up in a sense of curiosity and disbelief. Who in the world murders somebody over a hound dog?
"Yes, he did." The lawyer nodded, confirming his eyepopping, but truthful remark that he just made a few moments prior.
I suppose only in the rugged wilderness of the back hills in the Appalachian areas that border the Tug River would a man murder another over a dog. Truth by told, that unnerved me. The sense of lawlessness and ruthlessness paired with bloodthirsty cold-heartedness made the Hatfield clan, especially their Uncle Jim Vance, a perfect candidate to be a murderer.
Lifting me head up from my pad, I asked Lawyer Cline, "Do you happen to know how your cousin, Randall McCoy, learned of his younger brother's death? I mean was it heresay or straight from a family member, like his sister-in-law Martha?"
"Sally, his wife, sent him a letter while he was imprisoned in Ohio during the war."
Well, that certainly is a reliable source. After writing down his answer, I asked, "And what of his children, would Harmon's children be available to speak to me or do you think that'd be too much to ask?"
"Nancy, his daughter, would be more then willing to talk to you about her father, but Jefferson's never really gotten over the tragic shock of finding his father shot dead in the neck while he and his sister were bringing him up food and supplies to the still he was hiding out from Jim Vance in." Lawyer Cline told me, causing me to just nod. Shaking his head, he added in a sigh, "Jefferson's a heavy drinker; started at an early age to as a way to numb the horrid feelings and nightmares he has about Harmon's death."
As I wrote down the lawyer's words into my notepad my photographer snapped a photograph, one that no doubt showed me sitting at Lawyer Cline's desk, interviewing him while Mister McCoy sat slumped on the leather sofa, crying into the bottom of a whiskey bottle, all the while the legal clerk sat at his desk ready a copy of Dante's Inferno.
I flipped shut my pad only to deposit it and my pen into my pocket. Standing up, a held my hand out to Lawyer Cline for a goodbye shake while telling him, "Thank you, you've been very helpful and insightful."
Lawyer Cline stood and shook my hand while assuring me, "It was my pleasure to help, but T.C. Crawford it's you who's being helpful to my family and our case which is the pursuit of justice."
After ending the handshake, I left the law office. It only took a few minutes for my counterpart, the photographer, to join me on the road out of Pikeville. We did, indeed, make our way to where Nancy McCoy-Freeland lived, which was across the river in an upper corner of Logan County, West Virginia. I know, I know, my loyal readers, you all must be so curious as to why this woman lives in a state full of the men that murdered nearly her entire family, but the reason why is one that's very brow raising. According to my friend, Lawyer Brooksdale, Nancy's husband, Abel Freeland, was Cap Hatfield's brother-in-law and had once worked for Devil Anse- before being kicked out of the clan for marrying Nancy that is. So, yes, as I understand the ties are very twisted and knotted when it comes to the Hatfields and the McCoys; their bloody history of murder and lies.
A history that I wanted to delve into by speaking to Nancy, who I heard was known as the black-eyed beauty of the hills, about her father's death and perhaps her odd marriage to a Hatfield-in-law.
The ride to the Freeland cabin was a long one, but uneventful too since any and all guards didn't pay us any mind considering they knew we were newspapermen. The rolling hills and winding roads and small dirt paths and trails did make for a long ride too, but never-the-less we arrived to a clearing full of foliage and trees at a decent time. The cabin that was beyond the clearing was small and typical of a poor or lesser off family in the mountainous region that was Appalachia. It was clear to me that Abel and Nancy Freeland nee McCoy were 'poor', but only so because of their family ties and loyalties to one side and not the other- being the in-laws turned outlaws.
After hitching up our horses, my photographer and I made our way to the cabin. He stopped a few feet away from the porch steps and told me in his thick German accent tongue, "I'd like to set up the camera here. A photograph of the family out on their porch would be suited best."
"I'll let them know." I told my German photographer before walking up the small flight of slightly waterlogged steps and onto the porch, which had some uneven boards. I crossed the small space from the edge of the porch over to the front door and knocked twice on it.
It only took a moment for a slender woman with striking facial features and raven hair cascading over her shoulder in a braid to answer the door. She had a baby on her hip that had a head full of black hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail on top of her head, tied neatly with a green bow. The woman tilted her head up at me, her dark brow rising questioningly, and asked, "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"
Well, wasn't this striking creature blunt and upfront? With a polite smile, I introduced myself with, "I'm T.C. Crawford, the reporter from the New York Globe who's currently doing investigative pieces of the hardships and horrors your family, the McCoys, have and are currently facing in this feud with Devil Anse Hatfield and his clan."
"Oh, so you're here to interview me and my husband, Abel, then?"
"Yes, if you'd be so kind to oblige, that's exactly why I'm here."
"Very well, come in."
"Actually, Missus Freeland, if you don't mind, my photographer feels that it'd be best that the interview's done outside on the porch since it's such a beautiful spring day and a picture outside would surely showcase that beauty."
"Fine." Nancy told me in a clipped tone before looking over her shoulder and shouting, "Abel, that New York reporter's here to interview us! Want us sitting on the porch too!"
"Okay, I'm coming!" Shouted back her husband, Abel, as she walked past me and over to some rocking chairs.
She took a seat, adjusting her daughter on her lap, while a large man with long brown hair burst out of the cabin. "Abel Freeland, Nancy's husband." He introduced himself while offering me his hand to shake.
"T.C. Crawford, reporter from the New York Globe." I introduced myself, shaking the man's hand.
"Nice to meet you." He politely said as we ended our handshake.
"Abel, hurry up!" Nancy snapped, causing her husband to scurry over to the rocker by her side. Hmm, seems she's eager to start this interview.
I strode over to them, only to stop a few feet away. I pulled out my pad and pencil, only to flip the notepad open and ask the striking raven-haired woman, "I know this is a sensitive subject, but as I understand you found your father murdered. I'd like to know who you think did it, if you don't mind me asking."
"That horrible vile man, Jim Vance done it. He killed my pap."
"Jim Vance as in Devil Anse Hatfield's uncle?"
"Yes, I just said that, didn't I? That man's got to pay for killing my pap and my cousins and some other boy."
"Pay as in being arrested and charged, you mean?"
"Yes, I'd like nothing more then to see him hang for what he did."
Turning to Abel, I asked, "And how do you feel about Jim Vance and the fact that he murdered your father-in-law? I mean, isn't it true that your sister's married to his great-nephew, Cap Hatfield?"
"I know for a fact, without a doubt, that the truth is that Jim Vance murdered Harmon McCoy in cold blood. The very same way that Shaw killed Tolbert too, with a shot to a neck at a still." Abel told me in a tone that was so firm and steady. He let out a sigh before telling me, "And yes, my sister, Allie's married to Cap Hatfield, but it's not the best marriage. The man let his dad, Devil Anse, lock her up as prisoner in a barn since he thought she was a spy or something cause of me and who I chose to marry. Hell, Cap was supposed to divorce her too at one point, but instead of doing it he freed her from Devil Anse's barn and took her home so that she could take care of their children."
"All of the Hatfields are devils, except for Johnse Hatfield. That man's as gullible and nice as a child." Nancy blurted out before I even had a chance to form a coherent thought on what I'd just heard from Abel.
"Well, this certainly is a much-needed insight of what's going on with the feud." I told the couple while the sound of a camera went off some yards behind me.
I didn't get to ask anymore questions since the little girl on Nancy's lap started to squirm and she decided to cut our time short in order to put her down for a nap. Before I walked off the porch though, Abel Freeland told me the small, but heart melting detail of, "We named her Harmony in honor of Nancy's dad."
All I could do was nod and smile at that small, but very moving fact. Abel just bid me farewell before joining his wife and daughter back inside of their cabin; leaving me to my own devices.
From my two interviews, I gathered that Harmon McCoy indeed was unjustly murdered y Jim Vance, the Hatfield Uncle.
Brock POV:
I got a Western Union this mornin' from T.C. telling me that his latest article was out and that I should read it, so that's why I was currently in Pikeville, standin' in a crowd on the corner of the general store waitin' to get a copy of the New York Globe. Goddamnit, it was crazy how many people were shovin' nickels at the paperboy and greedily snatching up papers. When I was finally able to reach the paperboy, I quickly paid him and took a paper all the while bein' pushed and shoved by other townsfolk.
As I managed to squeeze my way out of the crowd and walk over to the hitch post, the door to the general store opened and out came sprintin' Squirrel and Parris with big Cheshire cat grins on their faces. "Oh, with my new gun telescope we're gonna get Devil Anse this time." I heard Parris brag to his brother, holdin' up a telescope in a victorious and excited way.
"Oh, do ya think that Lawyer Cline'll give us the money for killin' him? I could use it for buyin' the store from Mr. Adams; for my weddin' too." I heard Squirrel ask his brother while I leaned against the porch post, unfoldin' my paper and watching the McCoy brothers unhitch their horses. Hmm, I didn't know that Squirrel was engaged. I knew he had a girl, but didn't know it was that serious.
"Don't see why not. Rewards paid out to anyone who brings Devil Anse in, dead or alive." Parris told his brother, stuffing his gun telescope into his saddle bag before mountin' his horse.
Squirrel didn't say a word, just nodded and snapped his reigns, causing his horse to trot away from the post. Parris followed suit, joining his brother down the road so that they could ride into West Virginia and take Devil Anse by surprise; use that gun telescope on him. Honestly, I don't care whether they succeed or not. It doesn't make a difference to me since at the end of the day I live in Prestonsburg and I'm not that effected by the feud there, other then the gossip about it that is.
AN:
Well, this was a loaded chapter wasn't it? Next up Cap saves his pappy. Some other angst and drama'll be thrown in too.