by Ginny Dye
Jeremy glanced up at the glassed-in office. Thomas and Abby nodded their encouragement, the looks on their faces saying he was doing well. He looked back at the group of employees.
“I fully realize there are many feelings about what I just said — most of them negative. I don’t believe the feelings both sides of this issue have are going to disappear overnight. It will take time.” He stood taller as his voice grew even firmer. “I want to make sure all of you understand one thing, however. I said already that part of your job description will be to treat every employee with respect and consideration. I meant it. Anyone who causes trouble will be let go immediately.”
He let his eyes sweep the crowd. “Jobs are hard to come by,” he reminded them. Indeed they were. “We had over a thousand people apply for these positions. We chose the one hundred of you standing in front of me. We’re going to give you every chance to create a good income for your family while we create a factory that will help Richmond get back on its feet, but that condition is one we will not bend on. If you cause trouble you will be fired.”
He let his words settle over the room as he caught the eyes of everyone looking up at him. “Are we clear?”
Heads nodded all over the room. Faces portrayed a mixture of reluctant admiration, uncertainty, and stifled anger. It was the most Jeremy could hope for. He had no illusions that what they were doing would be easy, but they were committed to their course of action.
A sudden rustle in the back of the room caught his attention. He waited quietly as one man surged forward, his narrow face red with fury.
“It ain’t right,” the man yelled. “It ain’t right that some nigger gonna make as much money as I am. That ain’t how things are done around here! Can’t nobody tell me a nigger is as good as I am!” he hollered, seeming to pick up energy as he moved to just below the platform.
Jeremy watched quietly as a small group of men from where the protestor emerged tensed their bodies and began to move forward. “It’s how they are done now,” Jeremy said evenly. “You’re fired,” he said sharply.
The men surging forward stopped in their tracks, their eyes darting around to see what action they should take next. The protestor shot angry looks at them, but they didn’t move — they just kept their eyes locked on Jeremy.
“There are nine hundred men waiting to take your place,” Jeremy said calmly, willing his heart to beat slowly so that his voice wouldn’t betray the nervousness he felt. That simple reminder was enough to make the other men look away. “You’re fired,” he repeated. “You may leave.”
“You can’t fire me!” the man sputtered, his angry look fading into one of desperation. “I got kids to feed.”
“I made the conditions clear,” Jeremy reminded him. “You’re fired. Leave the building now.” He tensed as he saw the man consider whether an attack was warranted, but he saw the moment when the man realized not one other person was going to stand with him. He was on his own. Jeremy felt a surge of pity when the man’s shoulders slumped in defeat, knowing he had just thrown away the best opportunity in Richmond. Jeremy kept his face neutral as he gazed around the room. “Does anyone want to leave with him? I can have your replacement here in the morning.”
No one moved.
Jeremy fastened his eyes on the man, waiting until he had stalked from the building before he swept his gaze over the room again. “There is no place for hatred at Cromwell Clothing Factory,” he said. “I realize we are doing something that has never been done in Richmond, but it is also something that is long past due. I am not so naïve as to believe it will be easy, but the owners of the factory, Thomas and Abigail Cromwell, along with myself, believe it can be done.”
Jeremy fervently hoped he was right. Most of the white faces staring at him had just months ago laid down arms after years of fighting for a doomed Confederacy. The black faces staring at him were either recently freed slaves or Union soldiers who decided to stay in the South now that freedom was won.
He searched for words to begin the process of opening minds. “Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past,” he began, thinking of all the things he talked about with his father before he passed away. “Prejudice threatens the future we all hope to build for the South and for ourselves. Equally important, it makes the present inaccessible.” He paused for a long moment. “Prejudice is held by both black and white. We have all formed opinions without bothering to truly understand the facts. It takes great courage to keep an open mind and be willing to see things differently than you always have, but I believe the rebirth of the South depends on it.”
Tension still vibrated through the room, but it was not as intense. Jeremy decided he had said enough. To keep speaking would only turn his words into a sermon that he knew would be ineffective. Everyone standing before him was clear about the consequences if they caused trouble. Only time and the daily reality of working together would change their beliefs and actions. He knew that relieving their financial pressure through good wages would go a long way toward opening minds to think differently.
“Carlton.” He nodded to a man standing to the side. “You will begin to train the machine operators.” His gaze moved on to the other side of the room. “Noah, you will begin training the material cutters.” The women they had hired to sew the clothing would begin training in two weeks.
No one said a word as groups of men, black and white in each one, moved to their assigned areas. Jeremy watched for several minutes before he left the platform and climbed back to the office. He was going to spend most of his time on the floor, getting to know his employees and letting them know how closely he would be involved, but it was time to give them some space.
“Well done!” Thomas said the moment Jeremy stepped into the office and closed the door.
Jeremy shrugged. “Thanks, but I hated losing that man. Not because we need him, but because he needs us. Firing him was necessary, but it’s only going to make him more bitter.”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Abby said sadly. “If you hedged over his attack, the factory would have operated in chaos from the very beginning.” Her eyes softened. “It may make him more bitter, but there is also a chance it will force him to rethink his actions and change his beliefs.”
Jeremy stared down at the men working below, wishing he could believe her words, but too well aware of what wounded pride and hatred could do inside a man. He forced his voice to remain casual when he responded. “I hope so,” was all he said.
Jeremy was downstairs checking one of the machines when the day ended and the workers began to leave. Tension had been high for the entire day, but there were no confrontations. Evidently, they had all received the message that anyone who began trouble would be fired immediately. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, the long day suddenly catching up with him. Abby was right as usual. The real work had only just begun. He wished working with people was as straight forward as the equipment he was fixing.
He worked steadily, his thoughts moving forward to the next day. He stiffened when a scuffling sound came from behind him. He thought the building had emptied out long before. “Who’s there?” he called sharply, wondering if he had been foolish to leave his pistol in the office.
“Marcus,” came the immediate reply.
Jeremy waited while a black man, muscular and powerful, moved forward from the shadows. He watched him carefully, seeing nothing in his eyes to cause alarm. He forced himself to relax. “Why are you still here, Marcus?”
“I be wanting to talk to you, Mr. Anthony,” Marcus said nervously, looking around to see if anyone else was still in the building.
“About?”
Marcus cleared his throat but his gaze didn’t waver. “Me and some of the others want to know why you be paying everyone the same.”
“Does it matter?”
Marcus hesitated but then nodded firmly. “Yes.”
Jeremy eyed him with curiosity, liking the clear shine of intelligence he saw in his eyes. He remembered hiring him
. “You served with the Union Army,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Before the war you were a free man. You served as a blacksmith.”
“You have a good memory,” Marcus observed, watching him. “You remember everyone that good?”
“No,” Jeremy admitted. “Do you remember Pastor Marcus Anthony?”
“Of course,” Marcus said, his eyes brightening. “He was a good man.” Suddenly his eyes opened wider. “Jeremy Anthony. You be Pastor Anthony’s son?”
Jeremy nodded. “Yes. I remembered you from my father’s congregation.”
“He was a real good man. He helped my mama out a lot during the war,” Marcus replied. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy murmured. He would always miss the man who had been his father for his whole life. “Now, why does it matter how we pay people? Isn’t it enough that you’ll be paid the same?”
“I got my reasons,” Marcus said cryptically.
Jeremy saw the caution in his eyes and knew he wasn’t going to say more. At least not yet. “It’s not very complicated, Marcus. The Cromwells and I believe in equal rights for all people. We don’t think people should be paid differently based on the color of their skin or on their gender.”
“Most people down here — especially white people — don’t think the same way.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t care what other people think. My father taught me to stand on my own feet a long time ago.” He saw Marcus open and close his mouth, fear flickering in his eyes. “What do you really want to know?” he asked bluntly.
Marcus opened his mouth again and his eyes darted through the dark shadows.
Jeremy understood he was afraid of being overheard. “Let’s go up to my office,” he said suddenly. His gut told him he was safe with Marcus, but he was also aware the pistol in his drawer would even things out if Marcus had another intent besides just talking. He moved over to the stairs and climbed them quickly. Marcus followed him and stepped to the side while he closed the door. “Now, what is really on your mind?”
“Well, I done heard a few things…” Marcus began, his voice revealing his discomfort.
Jeremy felt for his nervousness but fatigue was pressing on him, and he knew May had a wonderful dinner waiting for him. “I’ve found saying things straight out usually works best,” he said. “Just say what you need to say.”
Marcus nodded. “I know that be best. I just don’t know how to say what I got to say.” He took a deep breath. “There be rumors around town,” he finally said.
Jeremy struggled with his impatience. “I imagine there are rumors about a lot of things. Could you be more specific?” For a brief moment, he wondered if the truth had come out about his heritage but dismissed that as paranoia.
Marcus stared at him. “You’re right that straight out is best,” he muttered. He straightened his shoulders and held Jeremy’s gaze. “You got a black sister, Mr. Anthony?”
Jeremy stiffened, rigid with disbelief for a long moment. His voice was under control when he answered. “Where did you hear that, Marcus?” He stopped before he added the question about just why he figured it was any of his business. He wanted to learn what was being said.
“Like I said, there be rumors,” he said levelly.
Jeremy wasn’t comfortable with either the truth or a lie. He fought to keep his thoughts clear and his face neutral, and decided to go back to his earlier question when Marcus had wanted to know about pay. “Would it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Jeremy asked sharply.
Marcus took a long breath. “Look, I ain’t trying to mess in your business, Mr. Anthony.”
Jeremy just looked at him, not willing to say anything.
Marcus looked away uncomfortably but then swung his gaze back. “Me and some of the others figured if it was true, then you might be a good ally.” He paused. “Now that I know who your daddy was, I figure that might be more true.”
“Ally?” Jeremy pressed, liking everything he was feeling about Marcus but still not willing to trust him. It could all be a setup to hurt the factory or to create trouble for him as a mulatto.
Marcus shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh. “It be okay if I sit down?” he asked suddenly.
Jeremy nodded toward a chair and waited for him to continue, still standing behind his desk.
“Things ain’t going so good for blacks right now,” Marcus said. “You hear about the Black Codes?”
“Yes,” Jeremy admitted, still not sure how much to reveal. “They’re not in Virginia.”
“Yet,” Marcus said bluntly. “You and I both know they are coming.”
Jeremy said nothing, knowing he couldn’t refute the statement. His brain raced hard to figure out what to do with the knowledge that the black community knew about his heritage.
“Even without them, life ain’t so good for us right now,” Marcus continued. “We be free on paper, but the white folks doing all they can to rip away that freedom so it don’t mean anything.”
Jeremy listened and continued to wait, hoping he would hear something that would give him an indication of how to respond.
“We need help,” Marcus said directly.
“And you think I can help?” Jeremy asked carefully.
Marcus shrugged his powerful shoulders. “You’re carrying an awful big burden,” he said suddenly. “I figure the rumors be true, or you would have just denied them outright. Instead, you’re just trying to figure out how much I know.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I ain’t got no reason to cause trouble for you, Mr. Anthony. I be taking a risk talking to you like this. I know you could fire me, but I told everyone I would do it.”
Jeremy tensed. “Everyone?”
“There are a group of us who are trying to make things better. We already figured out that ain’t nobody but the blacks really care about what happens to us. We’s fighting in every way we can, but we ain’t too proud to ask for help.”
Jeremy suddenly relaxed. He had been looking for a way to help. Here it was being dumped in his lap and he was dodging it like he was escaping an angry hornet. He managed a chuckle as he sank down in his chair. “I’m sorry, Marcus. You caught me by surprise.”
“I reckon I did,” Marcus agreed easily.
“The rumors are true,” Jeremy revealed. “My twin sister is one of the most amazing women I know. And, yes, she is black. She grew up as a slave on Cromwell Plantation.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “Mr. and Mrs.…”
“Yes,” Jeremy said, feeling relief to finally let it out. “Thomas Cromwell is my half-brother. My father and mother adopted me after I was sold to keep Thomas’s father’s reputation intact. I only found out a couple years ago.”
“Your sister?”
“She is a teacher,” Jeremy responded. “She escaped the plantation with the help of Thomas’s daughter just after the war started. She taught at the Grand Contraband Camp until the war ended. Her husband, Moses, fought as a Union soldier. He now runs Cromwell Plantation as a half owner.”
Marcus leaned forward even more. “Half owner?” he sputtered.
Jeremy smiled. “Mr. Cromwell did a lot of changing during the war.”
“That be for sure,” Marcus muttered. “That be quite a story…”
Jeremy chuckled again. “I know about the Black Codes. I also know that as a mulatto, I am at risk, as well.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna guess about you,” Marcus protested. “You look so white ain’t nobody gonna guess you got black blood.”
“You did,” Jeremy reminded him wryly.
It was Marcus’s turn to chuckle. “There wasn’t any guessing involved,” he said. “The black grapevine works real well. It’s had to ever since the beginning of slavery. It also keeps its secrets real well. Ain’t no black man that knows about you gonna say anything. We just trying to stay on top of things that can help us.”
“And you think I can help?” Jeremy asked again, leani
ng on his desk. “How?”
A wave of relief washed over Marcus’s face. “We had to fight last year to get the pass restrictions taken off us. The one good thing that come from that was all of us banding together. Used to be, freed men and slaves didn’t really have much to do with each other. Now that all of us be free, we’s got to work together.” He paused, his eyes serious. “We be doing that.”
“How?”
“The way we’re being treated is making folks real angry. John Oliver is helping us come together.”
“John Oliver?”
“John Oliver ain’t even from the South,” Marcus explained. “He be from up in Boston where he worked as a carpenter. He was real active in the American Missionary Society and fought hard for all of us to be free. When the war was over, he came down here just to see how things were. He found out real quick.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows at the anger that filled Marcus’s voice with the last statement, but he continued to listen quietly.
“John Oliver was walking down the street last year when he caught sight of the Black Bull Pen.”
Jeremy grimaced. “The old Rebel hospital,” he said with disgust. He had heard about what they decided to use it for after the war.
“Yes. That’s where they were putting all the blacks they were rounding up who didn’t have passes from white people saying we can do our jobs. Anyway, John Oliver caught sight of it one day when he was out walking around.” Marcus shook his head. “The provost guard caught sight of him at the same time. They demanded a pass. John Oliver showed them his pass from Massachusetts, figuring it would protect him.”
“It didn’t,” Jeremy said heavily.
“No. They shoved him into the Bull Pen. He stayed there until he found someone who would write a pass for him.” Marcus smiled slightly. “The good thing is that John Oliver decided the blacks down here need him real bad, so he decided to stay. He says we all gots to become activists.” His expression became serious. “He’s right.”
“The Bull Pen was closed and Mayor Mayo replaced after the protests last year,” Jeremy said, thinking what a sacrifice John Oliver had made. Surely life was much easier for him in Boston.
