by Ginny Dye
“This time last year I was still covering horrific battles, wondering when it all would end. I’m so grateful the war is over. I realize we have a new battle to fight now, but I’m also convinced that newspapers and the stories I will write for my book can help change how people feel. I have to believe it,” he said, his voice bordering on desperation even as he fought to sound casual.
“What aren’t you telling us?” Moses asked perceptively.
“What makes you think I’m not telling you something?” Matthew asked lightly.
“Because your eyes and your voice aren’t saying the same thing,” Moses said bluntly. “You might be able to pull off a charade with another group of people, but I’m afraid we all know you too well.”
Matthew smiled slightly as he searched for words. “I wanted to wait until after our celebration breakfast,” he finally murmured.
Robert nodded at the empty platters on the table. “I’d say it’s over,” he observed, watching Matthew closely. “Moses is right. What are you not telling us?”
Just then the pounding of hooves sounded outside, the noise increasing as they drew closer.
Thomas’s face set in stern lines as he stood. “We’re not expecting company.” He kept his voice calm. “It’s probably nothing, but I think it best if all of you stay inside. I’ll take care of it.”
“But, Thomas…” Moses began, pushing back from the table.
“That especially includes you, Moses,” Thomas said firmly. “You’re part owner of the plantation, but I don’t think our visitors, whoever they are, have come to talk to you.”
The tension around the table increased as Thomas strode across the room, grabbed his coat, opened the door, and stepped out onto the porch.
Chapter Two
Thomas stood erect at the edge of the porch. His silver hair glistened in the sunlight, his handsome face displaying none of the tight concern clenching his gut. He had heard the rumors swirling through Richmond in the weeks before he came out to the plantation for Christmas. The news Matthew brought, the same news he had not been willing to share with everyone else during the holidays, had lent weight to the rumors. He, Abby, and Jeremy agreed with his decision not to infuse darkness into the celebration. Though he had hoped nothing would happen, he was prepared for any contingencies. No one but he knew a pistol was tucked into his coat pocket.
Within moments, a group of six horsemen cantered around the final bend, slowing as the horses in the field stopped playing and watched them. All the men were bundled tightly against the cold, scarves concealing their identities.
Even through the thick layer of clothes, Thomas could feel the anger emanating from them when they continued to ride forward. He forced himself to remember the hospitality Cromwell Plantation had always been known for. “Happy New Year, gentlemen,” he called as the horses came to a halt, their bridles jingling as they bobbed their heads.
“I guess you would think so, Cromwell,” one of the men answered caustically.
Thomas stiffened but chose to not respond.
“There aren’t many plantation owners in the South who still have horses like this, Cromwell,” another man said bitterly. “I guess the stories of you selling out to the North are true.”
Thomas recognized the voice immediately. Jonathan Sowell owned the plantation ten miles down the road. He knew Sowell had lost everything during the war, including his two sons. He still remained silent.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Sowell taunted, pulling down his scarf so Thomas could see his brown eyes glittering with rage.
Thomas took a slow breath, willing his body to stay relaxed. “I learned in my years serving in the Virginia government during the war that it is impossible to reason with bitterness.” He decided to let his reminder of his service be the only response to their accusations. “I don’t imagine all of you came to wish me and my family a Happy New Year, so what can I do for you?”
Sowell moved his horse closer to the porch. “You and your family, Cromwell? Would that include the niggers that used to be your slaves? And that daughter of yours who is treating niggers in the same clinic where she treats white people?” he sneered. “We’ve been hearing things.”
“Did you just come to ask me questions?” Thomas asked evenly, clenching his fists within his pockets and closing one over the pistol. “It seems like you could have picked a day that wasn’t quite so cold.”
“No, we didn’t come to ask you questions.” Another man pushed his horse forward, his scornful voice ringing in the frigid air.
Again, Thomas recognized the voice. “Hello, Daniel.” In spite of his concern and his growing anger, he felt sympathy for the band of men grouped in front of the porch. All of them must have suffered horribly during the war. He couldn’t identify them all through their scarves, but he was quite sure they had attended parties together in the past. Daniel Cannon owned the plantation eight miles due west of Cromwell. The limp hang of his jacket confirmed the rumors of him losing his left arm at Gettysburg. He also lost two of his three sons, with the third returning home an alcoholic.
“Questions don’t mean a thing,” Daniel continued, ignoring the greeting. “We came to tell you a few things.” His slurred words revealed he had developed his own drinking problem — or perhaps he had needed the false courage to make this visit.
“That right?” Thomas asked. “I don’t believe I have a need for anyone to tell me how to live my life.”
“If you want a life to live,” Daniel snarled, “you’d best listen to us.”
Thomas battled the bile rising in his stomach as the combined hatred of the men rose to engulf him, but his face remained impassive.
“We used to all be friends,” Sowell said hastily, obviously trying to take back control of the conversation. “But things have changed, Thomas.” His voice was both harsh and pained.
“Evidently,” Thomas responded bluntly. “Since you seem to have something to say, go ahead and say it so I can go back in to my family.” He was quite sure all of them were clustered close to the front door listening to every word being said. He relaxed a little with that realization, knowing he wouldn’t have to face anything alone if the men decided their message would be more than words.
“We heard about you giving four hundred acres of Cromwell to them niggers you got working here,” Daniel snapped.
Thomas continued to stare at them silently.
“You’ve got to take that land back, Cromwell,” Sowell stated angrily.
“I believe I can do whatever I want with the land I own,” Thomas replied firmly.
“Not when it impacts the rest of us,” Sowell snapped. “You got every nigger in the area thinking we should be giving them land. They seem to believe they were better than they were before the war.”
“They’re free now,” Thomas reminded him. “You don’t own them anymore. They are choosing to work for you.”
Sowell snorted, his face twisting into an angry grimace. “Free! I don’t care if a piece of paper from a government that destroyed my home makes them free. They’re nothing but niggers, and I plan on treating them the same way I always did.”
“Then I predict you will have some problems,” Thomas said blandly.
“Only because you have put crazy ideas in their heads,” Sowell seethed. “You’re paying your niggers more than we can pay and you’re giving them profits. I always thought you were a sound businessman, Cromwell. Now I’m questioning your sanity.”
“Question it all you want,” Thomas replied, willing his voice to remain even and reasonable. “While you’re questioning it, you may want to ask which plantation in the area had the biggest tobacco crop this past year. You might ask which plantation had the highest profit margin.” His voice grew firmer as he stepped up to the edge of the porch. “The blacks are all free now, gentlemen. You can’t do things the same way they used to be done. If you treat your workers fairly and make it worth their while to work hard, you’ll find you can make as much
money as you did in the past.” He paused, remembering Abby’s words that beliefs would be difficult to change. “I know all the change is incredibly difficult, but I honestly believe we can rebuild a South that is even stronger and more viable than before.”
A short silence met his words as the six men stared at him. He thought he saw a flicker of wary understanding in Sowell’s eyes, but Cannon extinguished it with his next words. “What is going to be incredibly difficult, Cromwell, is life for you if you don’t change your ways. We’re here to tell you to take back that land from the niggers and to pay the same wages the rest of us are paying.”
“And if I don’t?” Thomas asked, his voice calm, his eyes hard as stones.
“Then you and your family will pay the price,” Cannon said, rage glittering in his eyes.
Whatever Thomas had seen flicker in Sowell’s eyes disappeared when he added onto Cannon’s announcement. “And don’t think this is just about the plantation. We know what you and your Yankee wife are doing in the factory in Richmond. There are lots of people angry that you are paying the blacks higher wages than other places. You won’t get away with it.”
Thomas had heard all he was going to listen to. “That’s enough,” he said shortly. “What I do with my plantation and my business is no one’s concern but mine and the people who choose to work for me. I won’t come down the road to tell you how to live your life, and I won’t have you coming here to tell me how to run mine.” He stepped back from the edge of the porch. “Your time here is over. You know the way to the entrance.”
“I told you he wouldn’t listen,” Cannon snarled, his hand snaking toward the rifle strapped to his saddle. “I guess we haven’t stated our message as clearly as we meant to.”
At the same moment Thomas pulled his pistol from his pocket, the door to the house opened. Robert, Moses, Jeremy, and Matthew stepped out onto the porch, rifles pointed at the group of men.
“There are five of us and six of you,” Robert stated quietly, anger flaring in his eyes. “One of you will have a chance to ride away if Daniel Cannon or any of you touches the rifle on your saddle.” He stepped closer to Cannon, holding his rifle steady, his years as a Confederate officer showing in his stance. “I believe Mr. Cromwell has asked you to leave. I suggest you do.”
Cannon moved his hand away from his rifle, but the rage in his eyes intensified. “We’ll leave,” he growled, “but don’t think this is over.” His glittering eyes settled on Moses standing tall on the porch, his rifle held steady. “I can’t believe I’m living to see the day a nigger would stand on the porch of Cromwell Plantation holding a rifle.” For a moment, intense grief mixed with his anger. “Everything I ever worked for has disappeared.” Rage flared again to dissolve the grief. “It’s not over. We may have lost the war, but there are many of us who are going to do whatever it takes to reclaim our lives and our fortunes. We’re especially not going to let any traitor Southerners or Yankees stand in our way!” With that parting shot, he spun his horse and galloped down the road.
The other five hesitated just a moment and then pulled their horses around and followed him. The pounding of their hooves on the frozen ground sounded like gun shots as they disappeared around the bend.
Thomas put his pistol back in his pocket as the other men lowered their rifles. “Well,” he said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” he added matter-of-factly.
Robert chuckled as he stepped up to put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “You handled it well,” he said admiringly. “I’m afraid I would have already put a bullet in Cannon.” He stared down the road. “Has he always been like that?”
Thomas shook his head heavily. “No. Daniel and I played together as boys. I attended functions at his plantation, and he attended many at Cromwell.” He stared off into the distance as the sound of the drumming hooves grew more distant. “The war changed him. Losing everything, including his two youngest sons, changed him.” He shook his head. “I disagree with his conclusions, but I sympathize with his pain and anger.”
“They’re not just going to stop with words,” Matthew said quietly.
Robert stared at him for a long moment. “Does this have to do with what you didn’t want to tell us at breakfast?”
“Yes,” Matthew admitted.
“I think now might be a good time to fill everybody in,” Thomas said, a spark of humor flaring as the tension of the moment passed. He turned to gaze down the road. “Should I expect them back tonight?”
“No,” Matthew answered. “They know you have too much backup.”
Thomas swung back around and stared into Matthew’s face. “You’re serious.”
Matthew nodded, his blue eyes grim. “This stuff is happening all over the country.”
Thomas took a deep breath. “Let’s go back inside. Whatever you have to tell everyone would best be told around a warm fire. Now that the moment has passed, I am freezing!”
After Annie passed around a tray of hot coffee mugs and several thick logs fueled the flames throwing welcome warmth into the living room, Thomas turned to Matthew. “It’s time for you to tell everyone what is going on,” he said gravely.
Matthew took a long sip of his coffee and gazed around the room, wondering how there could be so much light and beauty in the midst of another darkness covering the country he loved. “I take it you have not received news about the Black Codes.” He hesitated for a moment. “Thomas, Abby, and Jeremy already know what I’m about to say. We decided to keep it among ourselves through the holidays because we didn’t want to ruin them.”
Carrie was the only one with comprehension on her face. “A received a letter from a friend who mentioned Black Codes, but she didn’t go into an explanation. She just seemed terribly indignant.” She glared at her father. “As am I. You had a pistol in your pocket when you went out onto the porch. You suspected something would happen, but you went out there on your own.”
Thomas reached over to take her hand. “I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure. The only thing I was fairly sure of was that I would have backup if I needed it. I’m glad I was right about that.” He gripped Carrie’s hand tightly. “We’ve all been through so much, Carrie. I thought it was only fair to let us have our first Christmas since the war ended without more bad news.”
Carrie’s eyes softened. “I suppose I would have done the same thing,” she admitted reluctantly. Then she turned back to Matthew. “So my friend had a right to be indignant about the Black Codes?”
“She had every right,” Matthew said, anger flaring in his eyes, turning the blue almost black. “Abby, you asked me this morning what I meant when I agreed with Carrie that the war wasn’t over.”
“And you told me you were afraid that Appomattox ended just one phase of the conflict. From everything you can tell, the Confederates have returned home and initiated a new struggle to maintain the political and social dominance they enjoyed during the war,” Abby replied.
Robert, adding another log to the fire, spoke over his shoulder. “I’m thinking you must have concrete evidence of that because you’re not one to speak lightly.”
Matthew nodded heavily. “I’m not surprised the news hasn’t reached the plantation. I also know how hard Thomas, Abby, and Jeremy have been working to open the factory. I shared part of this news with them before we came out for Christmas.”
“We had been rather preoccupied,” Thomas admitted. “I’m almost ashamed the news came as a shock. Please tell everyone what is going on. I’d heard rumors around town, but I haven’t taken the time to stay current with everything in the country. I thought I was doing myself a favor after the constant pressures of political work, but now I’m afraid I’ve put myself and my family at a serious disadvantage because of my ignorance. Each person in this room needs to know the truth.”
Abby reached over to squeeze his hand. “We’re all adults responsible for our own information,” she said softly. She turned back to Matthew. “Please don
’t hold anything back. Now is not the time to protect us.”
“All of you know President Johnson has allowed political conventions in the southern states to resume,” Matthew began.
Carrie nodded, a resigned expression on her face. “I at least know that much… As far as I can tell, they have, for all intents and purposes, set up almost identical state governments to the ones that led us into secession. As much as I can sympathize with the southern aristocracy fighting to regain control, I fear Johnson is doing nothing but fostering the same attitudes and beliefs that led us into the war in the first place.”
“Northern Republicans would agree with you,” Matthew answered.
“I agree with my astute daughter. Rather an odd position for a southern politician to be in,” Thomas said, an amused twinkle in his troubled eyes.
“I have a feeling that when all this is said and done, many rational southerners are going to find themselves aligned with northern Republicans,” Matthew said wryly. “The South is doing all they can to make sure that emancipation for the slaves does little to actually change things.”
“The Black Codes.” Carrie said, leaning forward. “Please explain them.”
Matthew nodded again and pulled some papers from his pockets. “Conventions in Mississippi, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida have already passed a form of Black Codes. I can assure you the other Confederate states will follow. Basically, it means they included language in their new state constitutions which instructed the legislature to guard them and their states against any evils that may arise from the sudden emancipation of the slaves.”
“Can you be more specific?” Moses growled, his dark eyes flashing, his face a mixture of anger and pain.
