Free Tishomingo Blues by Elmore Leonard Page B

"The Yazoo," Robert said. "That's my dream, live in a house called the Yazoo."
    The big manufactured log cabin with no name turned out to be the office of American Dream, Inc., Kirkbride's manufacturing company. They angle-parked in front.
    WalterKirkbride stood by his desk wearing a Confederate officer's coat, gold buttons, gold braid on the collar, over a pair of khakis. They took him by surprise coming in unannounced-no one in the front display room-but within a moment the man was in charge.
    "I hope you boys have come to sign up." A Confederate battle flag filled the wall behind him. "You want a job, you got it. You want to buy a house, take your pick. Ah, but if you came in here to join Kirkbride's Brigade your timing couldn't be better, as I'm looking for a few good men. I'll commission you a lieutenant," he said to Dennis, and to Robert, after a pause, "I'll find something special for you, too."
    "Something special, huh?"
    That was all Robert said. Dennis gave Kirkbride their names. They shook hands and Dennis said, "If I didn't know he was deceased, I'd swear, Mr. Kirkbride, you were Nathan Bedford Forrest."
    "I've been the general many times," Kirkbride said. "And it's kind of you to say that. But my wife has refused to kiss me if I dye my beard again. I have a lot of nerve posing as Ole Bedford anyway. There he is," Kirkbride said, turning to a wall of paintings, "in his prime."
    Robert said, "The man that started the KKK?"
    "It wasn't as racially oriented as it is now. Oh my, no." He turned to the wall again. "Left to right you have Forrest, Jackson, JebStuart and RobertE. Lee, the most loved by his men of any general who ever lived. Outside of Ole Stonewall and maybe Napoleon."
    "Got their love," Robert said, "and then got 'em killed."
    A flush came over Kirkbride's face. "They fought and died," he said, "out of a sense of honor."
    "Six thousand killed and wounded," Robert said, "three days before the war ended. That make sense, die knowing the war's good as over?"
    "You're certain of your facts?"
    "Battle of Sayler's Creek. Had to be April '65."
    Dennis looked at Robert. Sayler's Creek? Did he pull that out of the air or ... Now Robert was saying, "Mr. Kirkbride, I have something I'd like to show you, if I may."
    The man was still flushed, but saw Robert raising his attache case and said, "Here, use the desk." He looked at Dennis as he moved aside. "You probably wonder what I'm doing in uniform, or half in and half out, but I swear to you I am not a farb. I'm as hardcore as JohnRau, if you happen to know him from reenactments. John's a Yankee at heart, even though he got his law degree from Ole Miss. I think he's originally from somewhere in Kentucky. No-what I'm doing, the reenactment coming up, I'm getting used to wearing wool on a summer day. It's not bad in here with the AC on, but I go outside-man. Do it right, I should also be wearing my longjohns."
    Robert had the photo out of his case. He said, "Mr. Kirkbride?" Handed him the eight-by-ten and waited until he was looking at it. "That's my great-grandfather hanging from the HatchieBridge, August 30th, 1915."
    WalterKirkbride said, "Oh my God."
    "And that's your grampa up there," Robert said, "in the dark suit, his arm raised?"
    Kirkbride stared at the photo. He took it around to his desk, brought a magnifying glass out of the middle drawer and studied the picture now through the glass.
    He said, "How do you know it's my grandfather?"
    "I have what you'd call circumstantial evidence," Robert said, "that my great-granddaddy sharecropped on your family's plantation in TippahCounty and the dates. I have the newspaper account of his murder. I expect you know they didn't call it that. They said lynching was sometimes necessary when the authorities failed to maintain law and order. I have birth records, including your grampa's, his age at the time."
    Kirkbride said, "That doesn't prove anything to me."
    "And I have the eyewitness account of my own grandfather,