by Ginny Dye
Peter moved forward to deliver another warning but was stopped when a carriage overturned in front of them. He bit back an oath as he jumped back just in time to keep from being hit.
The driver tried to halt his team, but the terrified horses bolted, pulling the carriage behind them as they plunged down the muddy road. Three white men savagely beating a black barely escaped being hit. The distraction gave the black man the opportunity to jump up and flee. Other whites gave chase, but another one eyed Marshal Ryder and moved forward with an angry sneer on his face.
Peter, every sense alert for danger, moved close enough to listen.
“I know who you are,” the man growled.
Ryder stood silently, returning his glare with a level look.
The man snarled now. “You and the rest of folks like you are responsible for stirring up the blacks. If it weren’t for you and them other Yankees coming down here and making the niggers think they are better than they are, this wouldn’t be happening. I reckon you ought to be killed for it. We have killed us a lot of niggers tonight, but they ain’t the only ones causing trouble.” He turned to the crowd of people that had formed. “You’re nothing but a damned Yankee abolitionist.” His voice rose to a fanatical pitch as he realized he had an audience. “You’re worse than a nigger!”
Peter hoped the incident would end with name calling, but as he began to move forward he saw the man grab his pistol and slam Ryder in the head with it. Ryder staggered but managed to stay on his feet. He saw Ryder begin to reach for his gun and then withdraw his hand. Peter understood. Ryder was afraid the man would shoot him if he went for his weapon.
“Well done!” Peter called loudly, clapping his hands together in applause. “It’s about time these Yankees get their due!”
He hid his smirk when the attacker turned to him, a gloating smile on his face. Ryder met Peter’s eyes over the man’s head. Ryder nodded his gratitude and quickly vaulted into his saddle, his horse breaking into a gallop immediately.
“Stop!” the man cried when he whipped around to find his quarry fleeing.
“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said soothingly. “You made your point. I reckon that Yankee will be in hiding for the rest of the night.” He was quite sure Ryder was on his way to disperse more information to the government, but he didn’t feel the need to point that out.
“You’re right,” the man said smugly. “Them Yankees ain’t nothing but cowards who think they can come down here and change the way we live. We’re teaching them a lesson today we should have taught them a long time ago.”
Peter nodded his agreement, somehow managing to hide his disdain, and continued down the street.
Crandall regarded him with admiration. “Quick thinking.”
“I met Ryder yesterday. He’s a good man. He has a wife and two kids that need him to come home.”
Peter and Crandall continued moving toward their hotel, slowly realizing the street was completely clear of black people. Surely the trouble would end since there was no one else to attack. There were still groups of white men milling around, but Peter hoped they would all go home soon.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” Peter said wearily.
“I’m with you,” Crandall responded, his face reflecting his own fatigue. “Even with the warnings that this could happen, I wasn’t prepared for it to be this bad.” His eyes settled on two black men sprawled in the mud, their bodies glowing oddly under the nearly full moon shining down on them. “What will happen with them?”
Peter swallowed. “I’m hoping once the streets empty their friends and family will come out for them.” Suddenly, the reality of the situation was almost more than he could bear. Worry for Matthew, Robert, and Moses erupted. He jolted to a stop and stared in the direction of the fort. “Do you think they made it back?”
Crandall shook his head. “We won’t know until we get back to the hotel, but they are resourceful men.”
Peter heard the uncertainty in his voice but knew he was right. “Let’s go,” he said suddenly. “I need to know they’re okay.”
They were just blocks from their hotel when movement caught their attention. There was a part of Peter that wanted to ignore it. His bed was calling him, but the journalist in him couldn’t let it go. “What’s that?” he asked sharply.
“I suppose we have to find out,” Crandall replied reluctantly.
Peter managed a chuckle. “For someone who always seems to resist everything, you’re never anywhere but in the midst of the action.”
Crandall grinned. “It’s part of my strategy. I keep people off guard and then slip right in for the story.” His grin evaporated quickly, a look of alarm filling his face. “That’s Chief Garrett with a unit of his policemen.”
“They haven’t done enough damage already?” Peter snapped. He was just tired enough to throw all caution to the wind. Increasing his pace, he stepped up to the chief of police. “Hello, Chief Garrett.”
The chief, his eyes swinging through the night for signs of danger, blinked and then focused on him. “Hello, Peter,” he said distractedly. “I can’t talk right now.”
“I know you’re busy,” Peter replied. “Where are you headed?”
“South Memphis,” Garrett replied firmly. “I will not rest until the blacks are thoroughly under control.”
Peter gazed around. “You believe there is still danger? Every black downtown is off the streets.” He turned his eyes on the group of policemen, trying to choose his words carefully. “I understand things got a little out of control earlier today.”
Garrett scowled. “That won’t happen again. These men will be under firm control. My sole agenda is to establish a police presence in South Memphis that will maintain order and suppress black unrest.”
Peter had grave doubts, but he was dismissed when Garrett turned to call orders and strode away to join his squad of men. His eyes met Crandall’s. By unspoken agreement, they melted into the shadows and began to follow the police. Peter pushed all thoughts of slumber out of his mind. Regardless of the chief’s intent, he recognized trouble when he saw it brewing.
The streets were virtually empty as they made their way toward the fort. There were no faces peering out from windows. Every building was shrouded in darkness, the frightened residents understanding that nothing should draw attention to them. Peter could imagine people huddled inside in stark fear of what the rest of the night would bring.
Wanting to hear what the policemen were saying, Peter motioned to Crandall and picked up his pace. Just as he was rounding a corner, he approached close enough to a burly Irish policeman to hear his words. “I aim to kill every black person I can find, and then I’m going to burn down every nigger shanty I can get my hands on.”
Peter slowed down and exchanged an alarmed look with Crandall. “The only hope for these people is to stay off the streets.”
He watched as Chief Garrett pulled the men together, exchanged a few quiet words, and waved his arm to indicate they should break into smaller squads.
“He’s a fool,” Crandall muttered. “It will be impossible for him to control these men now.”
Peter nodded, his heart thudding in his chest. “If the people just stay off the streets…” he muttered again. During the long day he had not seen one black person resist or fight back. The best thing they could do was simply hide.
It took just five minutes for him to realize it didn’t matter. He and Crandall chose to follow a squad of four men. He watched in horror as they marched toward a shanty and kicked the door in. He could hear the frightened voice of a woman but couldn’t make out what she was saying. He gritted his teeth with helplessness, realizing there was nothing he and Crandall could do to stop the invasion. Even if they had weapons, he knew they would simply be shot down for interfering. All they could do was wait for them to leave. Peter’s only comfort was knowing every action taken would be reported. The policemen had no idea they were following them.
When the men finally emer
ged, their voices were triumphant. “I ain’t never taken my way with a pregnant nigger before,” one called. “She was right pretty for a nigger woman.”
Peter groaned and leaned against the building, bile rising in his throat.
“We got us three hundred dollars too,” another boasted.
“They’re crazy,” Crandall said in a fierce whisper. “Can Garrett seriously be stupid enough not to realize what is going on?”
Peter shook his head, unable to summon words to express what he was feeling. Not one resident of South Memphis was safe.
Chapter Twenty
Carrie was pacing on the Stratfords’ porch. Janie and the rest had gone on a shopping expedition earlier. They had all offered to stay, but she had waved them away, insisting she would rather be alone. She wasn’t sure she had meant it, but when they disappeared in the carriage it had been too late to call them back. She had spent all morning worrying. She whirled around in relief when the door opened, but her face fell when she saw Abby step out alone. “Has there been word from Michael? When is he coming home?”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t know. There was another case of cholera reported today. I don’t believe he’s had time to check on any news coming from Memphis.”
“But he did say a wire had come through with news of violence in Memphis!” Carrie burst out, fear hammering at her chest. She knew her reaction was probably extreme, but she felt certain Robert was in danger. “It’s bad, Abby,” she said desperately. “I know it.”
Abby stepped forward to grasp her hands. “You don’t know anything,” she said soothingly, only her eyes showing her deep concern.
Carrie shook her head and pulled away, moving to the edge of the porch so she could stare down upon the city. She had no idea what she was looking for, and she knew she would find no answers in the air swirling with coal dust, but she felt she would implode if she merely stood still. “All of them are in danger,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t they leave when they understood what was happening there?”
Abby managed a smile. “You do realize who we are talking about, don’t you? Have you ever known any of those four men to ever run from anything? Especially Matthew and Peter?”
“Robert and Moses aren’t journalists!” Carrie burst out, tears stinging her eyes. “If something happens to them, it will be Matthew and Peter’s fault.” She knew as soon as the words came out of her mouth that she wasn’t being fair, but she was suddenly having trouble breathing.
“Stop.”
Carrie jolted at the sharp tone of Abby’s voice. She swung around and stared at her. “What did you say?”
“I said stop,” Abby repeated firmly, her voice filled with compassion now. She moved forward and took Carrie’s hands again, holding fast when Carrie tried to pull them away. “You are letting your fears take control of your thinking.”
Carrie stared at Abby, her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed. Anger warred with fear. “It’s so hard to not know anything,” she finally said, looking away because she couldn’t look into Abby’s eyes any longer.
Abby continued to grip her hands. “Look at me,” she commanded gently.
Carrie reluctantly swung her eyes back to Abby’s face, her tears finally spilling when she saw the love etched on her face. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered.
“Why?” Abby seemed genuinely perplexed. “Memphis is a large city. The odds are that they are nowhere near it.”
“You know better than that,” Carrie managed.
“You’re right,” Abby admitted quietly. “I know better than that.” She took a deep breath. “What is confusing me, however, is just why you are so afraid. You had to wait while Robert went through scores of horrendous battles. You had to wait while everyone believed he was dead. You had to wait for him to return from England. You had to wait during the long months he gave up on life. Surely those things were scarier than his being in Memphis?” She placed a hand under Carrie’s chin and forced her eyes up. “Why this? What is scaring you so much?”
“I’ve almost lost him three times,” Carrie replied in a broken voice. “It’s been a miracle that he came back to me.” She stopped, knowing she wasn’t answering Abby’s question. Forcing her mind to slow down, she searched for the answer. When it came, her eyes widened.
“What is it?” Abby pressed.
“If something happens, it is my fault,” Carrie cried. “I left him in Virginia.” The realization almost choked her. “If I had stayed on the plantation, he wouldn’t have gone to Memphis.”
“And you know this how?” Abby asked.
Carrie hesitated. In some part of her mind she knew she wasn’t making any sense, but at this moment she wasn’t able to think clearly. Words rushed out. “It’s foaling season. He wouldn’t have left the plantation if he wasn’t upset.” Even as she said it, she knew Robert was certain the mares wouldn’t drop their babies until late May, long after he would return. Besides, he had Clint there to handle things. None of it mattered to her churning heart.
Abby continued to watch her quietly. “Did he give you any indication he was upset with your decision to enter medical school?”
Carrie waved her hand. “No, but he wasn’t being honest.”
Abby heaved a sigh. “Carrie, where is this coming from?”
“It’s a woman’s place to stay home!” Carrie cried. Hearing the words come from her mouth was enough to shock her into silence. She stood motionless for a long moment and then sank into the rocker behind her. “Did I really just say that?”
Abby sat down next to her but remained silent.
Carrie stared at her. “I really just said that, didn’t I?” Another realization hit her. “Does that mean I believe it?” The very idea horrified her.
“Do you?” Abby questioned gently, nothing but love shining in her eyes.
“I said it, didn’t I?” Carrie asked, confusion swarming through her.
“You did,” Abby agreed. “That certainly means you have been conditioned to believe it, but that is different from actually believing it.”
Carrie stared at her. “I sounded like my mother when I said that.” She shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. “But I’ve always rebelled against the things she said.”
“That doesn’t mean they didn’t sink deep into your being,” Abby responded. “It can be very difficult to break free from beliefs ingrained in us from childhood. We can take action, but that doesn’t mean we don’t carry the weight…or the guilt of going against those beliefs.”
Carrie stared at her, feeling an odd relief at the expression on Abby’s face. “You’ve felt this way too,” she gasped.
Abby smiled wryly. “More times than I care to admit.” She reached over now to hold Carrie’s hand. “It’s almost impossible not to feel them. Every woman is trained from birth to believe and act in certain ways, but if you’re from the South it notches up to an entirely different level.”
Carrie managed a small smile. “That’s putting it mildly.” Memories of her mother trying to shape her into a proper southern plantation mistress swarmed through her mind.
“Carrie, up until now you’ve just planned on rebelling. You planned on going to medical school.” Abby continued. “Now that you have actually done it, the lessons forced on you when you were young are rising up to tell you your decision was wrong.”
“Does every woman face this?” Carrie asked slowly.
“Only the ones determined to live life on their own terms,” Abby replied. “When you decide to do something against the status quo, or when you decide to be more than men tell you is possible, you will fight not only society — you will also fight what has been ingrained in you.”
“Wonderful,” Carrie murmured.
Abby laughed. “At least you’re not alone.” She sobered and turned to look in Carrie’s eyes. “It takes tremendous courage to do what you are doing. Each of your housemates is being courageous, but you were the only one to leave your husband. T
he voices inside your head are going to be louder. Every time a man taunts you outside the medical school, you are not just going to see the face of a man. You are also going to see Robert. Part of you will wonder if you are being utterly selfish in becoming a doctor. You will feel guilt for leaving your husband.”
Carrie nodded, feeling a surge of relief to have her feelings expressed so eloquently. “You don’t believe I’m being selfish?” She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it again anyway. She was confident Abby wouldn’t make light of her question.
“You’re not being selfish at all,” Abby said firmly. “The dream of being a doctor has pulled you forward for a long time. More important is the fact that you have a gift many women don’t have.”
“Don’t have, or won’t use?” Carrie asked, her thoughts moving smoothly again. She couldn’t believe she was one of a fortunate few who had been gifted with innate abilities.
“Good question,” Abby replied with a smile. “I believe every single person — man and woman — is born with a gift and skills that are meant to be developed. There is something they are meant to do. Men are encouraged to find their skills. Women are told to simply be what men need or want them to be. Women who refuse to do that are criticized and humiliated. They are made to feel that they are somehow not truly female because they aren’t following the roles men have set out for them.”
Carrie gazed at her, thinking about all Abby had been through since her husband died. “You don’t sound bitter,” she observed thoughtfully. “Why is that?”
“Because it serves no purpose,” Abby responded. “Oh, there have been plenty of times when I was bitter and angry. When Howard died I felt so completely alone. I railed against every man because they were my enemy. Then I met Matthew. When he stepped in to help me, I realized I couldn’t target an entire gender with my anger. Once I let go of the fury, I found more men who were open-minded. There weren’t many of them,” she admitted with a smile, “but there were enough to give me hope. There were enough to keep my heart open…”
