Cherry Street

By B. J. Conner

Rebecca Hall, a lovely young nurse from Louisiana, travels with her family to a thriving riverboat town on the Ohio River in the late 1800’s and eventually married Charles Thain. Rebecca happiness is short-lived as things quickly deteriorate and her marriage ends in tragedy, digging up the nightmare that has haunted her since her early days in Louisiana. Rebecca finds herself embroiled in circumstance beyond her knowledge of nursing when she becomes the victim of a series of attacks. Could the curse of the notorious voodoo witch, Grandma Phoebe be to blame? Her journey is a tangle of lies and deceit through which she struggles to separate the truth from the façade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663245397

B. J. Conner

B.J. Conner lives in Southern Indiana, high atop a hill overlooking the Ohio River. She enjoys combining her love of local history with a fictional mystery sure to please her readers. When she is not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and friends.

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Copyright © 2022 B. J. Conner.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-4538-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-4539-7 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 09/22/2022

Contents

Author’s Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

For my children: Angie, Scott, Megan and Gina

A special Thank You to my friend,

Carol Haller,

for all of her help.

Author’s Note

During the nineteenth century, my hometown of Evansville, Indiana was a bustling harbor town. Its rich history and historic buildings inspired me to choose it as the setting for this mystery. The Vieles, Williard Carpenter, Mrs. Albion Fellows Bacon and the F. J. Reitz family were actual well-known people who lived in Evansville at that time. I took the liberty of adding a balcony to the Viele’s ballroom for storyline purposes. Celeste Carpenter is a fictional character and not a real relative of Wiliard Carpenter. All other characters and the storyline are purely fictional and any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental. Historical information about Evansville and its residents in the late nineteenth century was obtained through research at Williard Library

Chapter One

T he afternoon sun barely penetrated the dense trees with only small shafts of light streaming thorough the dark grim woods. Tiny beads of perspiration surface on my forehead as the perpetual hum of insects drones in my ears. I detest walking through the woods. I am furious with Sarah for dragging Quinn and me along with her to Grandma Phoebe’s cabin. The dank smell of undergrowth is overwhelming, and the moss hanging in the trees seems to make it darker than usual, it only adds to my uneasiness. I hate the swamp. Sarah and Quinn rush ahead with no consideration for me. Try as I might, I cannot keep up with them instead I stumble in the twisted roots, which grow wildly on the floor of the woods. It is as if fingers are grabbing at my feet demanding to imprison me there on the foul smelling soil beneath my feet. It is nauseating.

Sarah! I call Wait for me!

Come on, Rebecca! She shouts back and continues on without hesitating. I can barely see her blonde curls bouncing as she steps lively through the woods. We don’t have all day, slowpoke! Her voice seems to be getting farther away and I was becoming weary of trying to keep up with them. Finally, they disappear out of my sight; I am alone. The sound of the locusts intensifies to an ear-piercing level, screeching a warning to go away. I place my hands over my ears to block out the sound and trudge on for I know that Sarah and Quinn would be waiting at the cabin. When I reach the rickety old hut, I do not pause and I pull hard to open the door, which is made out of uneven wooden planks that have turned gray with age. The rusty hinges creak with resistance as the door swings open. The smallest amount of light is seeping into the room, it serving only to limit my vision. Through the murky gloom I can see Sarah’s silhouette already seated at the small table across from Grandma Phoebe. Quinn is standing just inside the door. Grandma Phoebe glares at me as I enter; she jumps to her feet and pointing at me, she cackles like a hen, Be wary girly for when darkness falls the wicked one will be waiting for you! The sudden airlessness of the room seems to crush the breath out of me; I begin gasping for air as I scream and bolt straight up in my bed.

It was just a nightmare, the same nightmare that has plagued my sleep countless times in the past year, since a series of murderous attacks began. The newspaper has labeled the attacker the Cherry Street Strangler, three of the attacks occurred on, or near Cherry Street. The nightmares began just after the first young woman was killed. I sat on the side of my bed for several minutes just to allow my heartbeat to calm. I began thinking about everything that had happened to my family and me, since we came to Evansville. The nightmare reminded me of the morning I learned of my husband’s death.

That morning I awoke to rapping at our front door. I had noticed the dim glow of dawn creeping into the room through the cracks beneath the window blinds. I reached for my robe and assumed that my husband, Charles had forgotten his key. I descended the stairs and suddenly had a sense of dread, as if a premonition pervaded my spirit. I opened the door and peered out at the grave face of a police officer. Fear overtook my senses, instantly I knew that Charles was dead. James Weeden, Ross Macfaden and Charles’ closest acquaintance, John Michael Clark, stood solemnly on the steps behind the officer. The expressions on their faces only confirmed my suspicion. The uniformed officer standing before me introduced himself as Officer White. He spoke to me in a consoling tone, although his words could not penetrate the thick veil of numbness that had embraced me. I felt as if I might faint as the blood rushed from my head. I gasped for breath and wondered how I could survive having my heart plucked from my chest, in a flicker of a moment.

Officer White explained that Charles and his cronies had been out drinking and roaming along the flooded banks of the Ohio River. Charles had lost his footing, falling into the swift current of the river and was carried away. The others were too intoxicated to provide details of the accident.

After that day, I tried countless times to visualize the scene and each time speculated on what could have been done to change the outcome.

Charles’ body wasn’t recovered for more than a week later, long after the floodwater had receded. His funeral was a sobering affair for his friends. I cannot recall much of the experience, since my father insisted that I be sedated. However, I do remember the faces of the pallbearers as they carried the casket and placed it at the gravesite. John Michael, James Weeden, my brother-in-law Leo Johnson and the three Macfaden brothers, Ross, Raymond and Rudy. Their sorrowful expressions were apparent to everyone there, and I was profoundly moved by their overwhelming grief. Not long after that fatal night, Ross married his fiancée; Gloria Brentwood and John Michael left the city for parts unknown. James Weeden started spending quite a lot of his time with my sister, Quinn; he was her escort to many of the social events around town. Since Charles’ death James had stopped drinking.

I had no doubt that Grandma Phoebe would have warned me that my nightmares had only just begun, with the death of my husband, but Grandma Phoebe was in the Louisiana swamp; and we now lived near the Ohio River in Indiana. The life that we led in Louisiana seemed so far away, although I can remember vividly the day we arrived at the Evansville wharf.

It was in the late eighteen-eighties when my father, mother, my two sisters and I the youngest at fifteen, had traveled by steamboat up the Mississippi River to the Ohio River. It was an enormously pleasant trip for my sisters and me. It was particularly difficult for us to contain our excitement as we boarded the Amanda Bell at Natchez, Mississippi. My father, Doctor Edgar Morris Hall, was distinguished for his service to the poor in the South. He was appalled at the poverty, misery and disease that was still prevalent among the poor population, decades after the civil war. He was dedicated to serving the poverty-stricken, so it was quite rare for my parents to neglect their calling to attend a social function, especially one so far from home. Our arrival at Evansville’s cobblestone wharf, where the waterfront teemed with liveliness, was the highlight of our journey. Of course we had traveled through cities before, however we had never actually stayed in one for any length of time, so the thought of being a part of the city for at least a week delighted my sisters and me.

I became caught up in the enormous quantity of passengers and merchandise being brought ashore to the various stores and businesses that lined the riverfront.

Sarah quickly grabbed my arm and said, There is no time to be dilly dallying here on the wharf, she reminded me, in a sophisticated tone of voice. We have come here for Cousin Ellen’s wedding. Of course, I was aware of the circumstance for our coming, my eldest sister Quinn, short for Quintilla, was to be maid of honor. Sarah could barely contain her excitement, she had always wished to be in a big city and have the opportunity to socialize with young men, which was a rarity with our lifestyle. Family and friends from all over the country were invited to this grand affair. After all, Cousin Ellen was shortly to become Mrs. Andrew Johnson. Of course, this Andrew Johnson was only a distant relation of the late president of the same name. Our mother’s brother, William Barnett, who had made a modest but adequate fortune in real estate, was to spare no expense for the wedding of his only daughter. He and his wife Judith had insisted that we come all the way from Louisiana at their expense.

Evansville was a small city nestled on a hairpin bend of the Ohio River; it was a refreshing change for young girls who had been born and raised in the Deep South, where poverty and sickness seemed commonplace. Father and Mother had instilled in us the same sense of obligation to society, by which they themselves were governed. It was quite natural that I also considered it my duty to rid the nation of the sickness and suffering which plagued the downtrodden. We did not usually dwell near a city; as a rule we lived in small communities in close proximity to where we were needed. These communities were made up of people with similar backgrounds and everyone seemed to, not only know each other’s names, they also knew everyone’s life story. Most folks were poor and friendly in Serenity, Louisiana the tiny community on the Mississippi Delta where we had lived for two years prior to coming to Evansville.

It was there that Sarah learned of Grandma Phoebe. She lived in the woods near the swamp and read fortunes for a penny. She was also known for her herbs and potions that could mend whatever ailed a person, from warts to untimely impregnation. The field workers were very superstitious and filled our heads with stories of her casting spells on anyone who dared to oppose her methods and remedies. Father had forbidden us to go near her hut and referred to her as an old witch. Customarily, I was quite willing to obey our parents. However, Sarah could not resist an opportunity to have a glimpse at her destiny. As a result, she insisted that Quinn and I accompany her whenever she wished to have her fate foretold. Grandma Phoebe was no one’s grandmother of whom I was aware; nevertheless that was what everyone called her. I suppose it was because she looked very old, she was thin and her face was a mass of wrinkles. Her dark weathered skin hid her black eyes and she always wore gold jewelry with bright colored clothing. Quinn was considered too sensible, and I was by far too frightened to ever have our fortunes told. That prompted Grandma Phoebe to warn us about the evil things that would befall us if we did not heed her supernatural power. The last time the three of us had visited her hut together, Grandma Phoebe revealed to Sarah that she would travel to a distant place where she was to meet her one true love. I could not help but snicker.

Grandma Phoebe jumped up from the table and pointed her long bony finger in my direction and declared; You, missy, better be watchful…keep both eyes open. Her black eyes opened wide gleaming with satisfaction as she saw the horror reflected on my face. Be wary girly, when darkness falls, the wicked one will be watching and waiting for you! Mark my words. You will tread straight into to his path!

Then she laughed and I escaped through the door leaving Sarah and Quinn behind. I recall running the entire distance home to tell my father. He was disappointed that we had disobeyed him, in spite of this he assured me that Grandma Phoebe possessed no exceptional ability to see into the future, and that I was perfectly safe. I was too terrified to return to the woods.

My father was an only child of a meager plantation owner in Georgia and as a small boy he was dismayed at the physical condition of some of the poor that worked in the fields. His desire to help led him to medical school in Virginia. Grandfather had sold his small plantation in Georgia before the Civil War and had moved to Virginia. He later died leaving my father enough money to carry on his work with the poor. Father returned to the South where he set up a small practice. In the morning and afternoon he would treat the wealthy and in the evening, and sometimes in the dead of night he would treat the poor workers from the cotton and sugarcane fields. We were not poor, however we were not considered wealthy either. Father managed to have our needs adequately met, which was more then I can say for most folks on the Mississippi Delta.

My mother met my father while she was nursing the sick in a community where smallpox had very nearly killed half the population. Fortunately, for some miraculous reason, she failed to contract the disease. Father had been summoned to that remote area because of his reputation for helping the needy. There they met, fell in love and were married. From then on they traveled wherever there was a need for a doctor and a nurse. That transported them all over the South, so that all three of us girls were born in different places.

As a child, I often asked my mother to recount the story of how she and father met. He was tall, dark and handsome, and she was fair and petite. In my youthful imagination I created a wonderful depiction of them together working hand in hand to save the lives of the impoverished people of the South. They were so devoted to each other and to their common cause, that I sincerely wanted my life to mirror theirs.

My sisters and I were also expected to help in the infirmary. Even as young as five I carried pans of water to the bedside of the sick and dying. We spent hours shredding strips of old bed sheets into bandages or bathing sores of children, as well as adults when we were mere children ourselves.

Sarah resented her duties and Quinn was not altogether pleased, all the same they were obedient to our parents’ instructions. I, on the other hand, sincerely took pleasure in working with the sick. Sarah swore that she would marry the first man to ask her, so that she would never be forced to nurse another afflicted soul. Our trip to Evansville afforded her that opportunity. In fact, Sarah met her husband to be at Cousin Ellen’s wedding. Cousin Ellen’s wedding was to change all of our lives forever and would lead me into the threatened darkness of which grandma Phoebe had warned me.

The wedding took place in a beautiful Catholic church named Holy Trinity, in the center of the city. In my entire life, I had never seen so many healthy people gathered together in one place. Sarah and Quinn were delighted. Sarah had quite made up her mind that she would not leave Evansville without a husband. Sarah was headstrong and once she made up her mind, Quinn and I never doubted that she would have her way. Quinn, in contrast, was reserved; her spare time was spent reading any books she could get her hands on. She was very knowledgeable on every subject, especially concerning the growing of flowers and plants. At twenty she was the oldest and she thought that she was the least attractive of the three of us. Although everyone considered her to be pretty with her dark hair and large brown eyes, she was quite shy, and would not dare to speak unless she was addressed directly. Sarah was eighteen and a beauty with blond hair, green eyes and just the right tilt of her small nose, which gave her a charming appearance. She was also very outspoken. Mother was use to saying that Sarah did not know when to hold her tongue. She was also a sweet and a compassionate person as well, so it was quite natural that she should attract the most attention.

I was by no means a raving beauty though I knew that I was attractive with thick, manageable hair the color of winter wheat. My eyes were large and green like Sarah’s, and I prided myself on my positive disposition. Father always commented on my ability to remain cheerful no matter how dire the situation.

The day of the wedding turned out to be a fine June morning. Our cousin Ellen was charming with an infectious personality and everyone loved her. She made a lovely bride in her white lace veil and silk gown. Quinn and the other bridesmaids, six in all, were dressed in gowns of a pale yellow that was quite flattering to Quinn’s dark coloring. The groomsmen, dressed in black attire looked very elegant, as if they came out of a fashion catalogue. The best man was Leo Johnson, the brother of the groom and my future brother-in-law. Of course, I was not aware of that at the time; however, I did notice that he could not keep his gaze from Sarah for long, but neither could the other gentlemen in the wedding party. The other groomsmen were James Weeden, Theodore Banks, John Michael Clark, Charles Thain and Ross Macfaden the eldest of the three Macfaden brothers. I referred to them as the three R’s. Ross was the same age as Quinn; Raymond was a year older than me, and Rudy was four years younger. All of them were to be influential in my future. Had I the slightest inkling as to the frightening events that were to take place, I am certain that I would not have wished to stay in Evansville a moment longer than was necessary.

After the wedding ceremony there was an elaborate banquet and ball at the St. George Hotel and it was there that the change in our existence began. Sarah improved her acquaintance with Leo, spending the entire afternoon and evening in his company. Father and mother were introduced to Mrs. Albion Fellows Bacon who was a most visible crusader for improving the living conditions of the poor. I met Charles Thain my future husband. I thoroughly enjoyed the attention that I received from Charles who was the uncle of the three R’s. Although he was at that time twenty-one, seven years my senior, his youthful appearance gave the impression that he was much younger. His sister Julia was married to Robert Macfaden.

Charles was tall and lean, though one could not exactly deem him handsome, with his straight sandy colored hair and pale blue eyes, I found him appealing. He displayed a great deal of attention on me, and not so much to my sisters, as all of the other gentlemen were inclined to do.

Charles had come to Evansville to live with his sister and brother-in-law after his mother and father were killed in a carriage accident some years earlier. An accident that was rumored to be contrived by his father, although Charles denied the possibility of any truth to that gossip, he was clearly disturbed by it. His sister Julia bared only a slight resemblance to him, she was also tall and lean however she was rather attractive, with dark blue eyes that held a sadness that can only be described as grave.

There was such a large age difference between Charles and his sister that he told me that they had very little in common. Her husband Robert was quite attentive to her. He remained at her side whenever they were out among the public. Their sons, the three R’s, were all very different. Ross, being the oldest, was polite and sociable. He was the most apt to do his father’s bidding. As far as the other two were concerned, Raymond seemed quiet and unconcerned, where Rudy was rebellious and simply ignored his parents altogether. The three of them had inherited their father’s dark hair and eyes.

The Ballroom was gloriously decorated and the musicians had struck up a waltz. The gentlemen were beginning to accompany the beautifully gowned ladies to the dance floor when Charles Thain approached me. The first words out of his mouth were, are you permitted to dance?

I looked pleadingly to my parents who in turn nodded their approval. As he led me on to the dance floor he said. Forgive me. We have not been properly introduced. I am Charles Thain.

Rebecca Hall, I said nervously, wondering if I could remember how to waltz. Mother had taught us to dance, and the three of us used to dance around the room together, which was great fun. But, this was quite different. I had never danced with a gentleman before, not even my father. I tried to count the steps at first and stumbled a little. Charles was not an entirely graceful dancer either and we started out rather stiffly. As we whirled around the dance floor, I began to enjoy the pleasant sensation of gliding along to the music. We were both out of breath and laughing at the end.

Thank you, sir. I cannot remember when I have had such fun! I exclaimed exuberantly.

Surely a lovely young lady as you must attend many Balls, he teased.

Oh no, sir, there is rare occasion to dance in my father and mother’s work. I stated honestly. Beside that I am only fifteen and not exactly invited to functions such as this.

Fifteen you say! he seemed disappointed.

Yes, though I am not too young to dance.

Certainly not, he said, as he escorted me out on to the floor again.

Much later that evening as I sat with Quinn, Theodore Banks and James Weeden came over to us to speak to Quinn, of that I was certain however they could not politely ignore me. Quinn shyly introduced them to me. I noticed that Mr. Banks, a very attractive gentleman a few years older than Quinn, had intensely dark blue eyes, thick dark hair and a clean-shaven face. His friend, Mr. Weeden, wore a mustache that gave his appearance a charming attraction. His hair was lighter brown and fell appealingly over his brow. His eyes were a dazzling blue and when he smiled his charm was commendable. Yet it was Theodore Banks that held my attention. His striking good looks fascinated me and when he spoke directly to me he managed to create the impression that I was the most important person in the room.

I learned later that these two gentlemen were considered to be the most eligible catches in the city. In spite of this, neither of them made themselves quite as accessible to the young ladies, who were determined to have their interest. It seems that they both were known to have given their attention to a number of ladies in the past; only to have eventually dropped them back into the pool of maidens, waiting to be scooped up by an eligible bachelor.

James Weeden had a personality to match his lively blue eyes. He did not hesitate to ask Quinn to dance and just as quickly whirled her to the dance floor. In their wake I awkwardly stood with the handsome stranger,