by Ginny Dye
“They don’t know Robert and Moses are gone,” Rose protested, but she couldn’t deny the instant feeling of comfort she felt now that everyone was together. She could read the same relief on the other women’s faces as their children ran around the yard, squealing as they chased the first fireflies of the year.
“Word gets around,” Thomas replied quietly. “I wasn’t willing to take a chance.”
Rose felt a warm surge of love as she slid her arm around Thomas’s waist. In spite of how far they had come, overt expressions of affection were still rare. “Thank you,” she said softly.
The door to the plantation house flung open. John and Simon came running out, thrilled to find the yard full of other children. Moments later their happy laughter joined that of the other children. Firefly chasing quickly turned into a game of hide-and-seek.
Rose watched the carefree children for several minutes before she turned back to Thomas.
He read the question in her eyes before she asked it. “Jeremy is running the factory. He has agreed to send someone out with news as soon as they hear something definite.”
Rose nodded. She was concerned about Moses, but something had shifted inside of her. She was certain she would feel it if something bad had happened. She had been anxious all day, but she didn’t feel a sense of loss. She knew the ache in her would be a gaping, dark void if her husband was dead or wounded. She had experienced that agonized knowing when Moses had been shot during battle. She felt none of that now.
Thomas sighed as he settled back in the chair he had pulled close to the window. He had no real reason to expect trouble, but he certainly didn’t have a reason not to.
Rose carried in cups of hot tea and settled down in the chair across from him. The house was finally quiet. The children were asleep, Annie had finished in the kitchen and gone to bed, and Spencer had been settled in a room upstairs. She was certain he was watching out the window too. The knowledge added to her sense of warm security.
“That was a heavy sigh,” she commented as she took a sip of her tea, watching fireflies create sparkles of light in the oak tree. In spite of the risk of danger, she felt safe. Six of the men were stationed outside the house. The rest of them were protecting the women and children down in the old quarters.
“I had this insane idea that things would be peaceful when the war ended,” Thomas replied heavily. He took a sip of his tea but his eyes never quit scanning the darkness. “Our country feels like it is just as much a powder keg as it was before the war. Perhaps more so. Before the war, the feelings in the South were toward the North. I felt them, but they weren’t coming from the people around me. It was the people out there.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Now the anger and hatred are focused here, on the more than four million freed slaves surrounding us every day.” His fist clenched. “But it’s not just them. It’s also focused on people like Jeremy who are mulatto, and people like me who no longer hate and discriminate. We are all a threat they wish they could snuff out.”
Rose listened quietly. This was the first time it had ever been just she and Thomas. She knew her half-brother accepted and loved her, but there had always been other people around when they talked. It felt good to sit quietly and listen to him talk, his voice blending with the crickets and frogs tuning up their orchestra.
“Are you afraid?” Thomas asked, swinging his gaze away from the window.
Rose met his gaze. “Most of the time I’m not. Today was a different matter. I could feel something in the air. It scared me.” She had told Thomas about the horsemen. He had agreed it had been wise to send the children home. “It is difficult to balance fear and reason,” she admitted. “I don’t want to give in to fear. Neither do I want to be foolish.”
Thomas nodded thoughtfully. “I know what you mean. I’ve been scared for Abby ever since she was accosted on the way home from the factory. She hates being constantly watched, but I couldn’t bear it if something happened to her.”
Rose nodded. She had clear memories of Thomas’s grief when his first wife died. She didn’t want that for him again, and it would break her own heart if something happened to the woman she loved so much. “She’ll have to deal with being watched,” she murmured.
Thomas glanced back toward the window when an owl hooted loudly. “I was relieved when she headed for New York City and thrilled Carrie and the rest of the students could join her. I thought she would be safe there. Now I’m not sure any of them are.”
Rose was alarmed when his face suddenly creased with a scowl. “Is something wrong in New York?”
Thomas shrugged. “They’ve had three cases of cholera reported. Abby assures me they are safe, but I am worried.”
Rose sucked in her breath. Carrie had told her enough about the cholera epidemics of the past for her to know they were not easily controlled. “They are leaving the city?”
Thomas managed a small smile. “Do you remember who you are talking about? They went to attend the Women’s Rights Conference. They refuse to, and I quote, let a little thing like cholera stop them from attending.”
Rose chuckled, but it did nothing to abate her sudden worry. New York was a massive city, but cholera was no respecter of people or wealth. The two women she loved best were both there — both in danger of a catching a disease she knew would most likely kill them. She was suddenly tired of it all. A wave of anger merged with her worry, threatening to overwhelm and swallow her. “Don’t you ever just get sick of it?” she demanded.
Thomas cocked an eyebrow. “Sick of it?” His expression invited more.
Rose groped for words. “Sick of the worry. Sick of the fear. Sick of not knowing what will happen next. Sick of waiting and hoping that things will get better but having no real confidence it will ever happen. Just sick of it!” She finished with a heated burst, her heart pounding, but somehow feeling a little better that she had expressed it. The wave shrank back, lessening the pressure.
“Every day,” Thomas assured her. “Then I remind myself I have no choice in what is happening, but I can definitely choose how I respond to it.” He reached forward to grasp Rose’s hand. “I almost lost myself during the war. I was so angry and bitter. I was sick of everything. Thank God I finally realized my bitterness was doing nothing but hurting myself. I still struggle with it,” he admitted, “but I deal with it much more quickly.”
Rose heard his words, but something bigger was happening in her as she stared down at their hands intertwined, her slim dark fingers nestled in his strong white ones. Suddenly hope soared through her, blotting out the fear and worry that threatened to consume her. This man had once been her master. His father had raped her mother. He had sold her father and baby brother to protect his own father’s reputation. Yet here they were, siblings connected by their humanity and a very genuine love.
Thomas seemed to read her thoughts. He gripped her hand more tightly. “Change will come, Rose. It will happen slowly and there will be much pain, but change will come.”
Rose looked up and gazed into his eyes. “I believe you’re right,” she said softly. “I do believe you’re right.”
Chapter Twenty-One
As dawn claimed Memphis, sparse clouds in a clear sky could do nothing to lessen the horror daylight brought. Matthew and Robert, anxious to get back to the hotel to relieve Peter and Crandall’s worry and then find Eaton, left the fort as soon as there was enough light to leave safely.
“Be careful out there,” Moses cautioned.
Robert smiled briefly. “You’re the one who needs to be careful.” He knew it was best for Moses to stay in the fort along with the hundreds of other black refugees who had poured through the gates during the long night, but it was difficult to leave him. If it had been safe for him to appear on the streets, Robert would have insisted he come with them. Experience told him no one with dark skin was safe in Memphis right now.
“I’ll be fine,” Moses said firmly. “Go.”
Robert had gone less than a hundred yard
s before he saw a black man sagging against a building, his head cocked at an odd angle. He moved forward to offer assistance, but Matthew tugged him back.
“It’s too late,” Matthew said grimly. “He’s dead.”
Robert stopped, a closer look telling him it was indeed too late. They continued to walk, his shocked silence deepening as they passed scores of black bodies. Most were men in uniform, but he also saw women and young children. With the exception of the dead or wounded, there was no sign of life on the streets. “They’re too scared to even come outside,” Robert finally whispered through his clenched teeth. Sorrow and anger battled for control.
“As they should be,” Matthew said in a clipped voice, his eyes blazing with anger, grief, and disgust. As much as he wanted to stop and help, he knew he needed to get back to the hotel and find out what was going on elsewhere in the city. He hurried through the streets, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted Peter and Crandall standing on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Gayoso.
“Peter!”
Peter jerked his head around, a broad smile appearing on his face when he saw Matthew and Robert striding toward them. “It’s good to see you two!” he exclaimed.
“We were worried sick,” Crandall added.
“Sorry,” Matthew replied. He quickly explained what had kept them at the fort. “What is going on in this part of town?” he asked, desperate for more news.
Peter scowled. “It’s bad. There were murders and beatings everywhere.”
Matthew’s eyes scanned the road as Peter filled in the details. He could feel fresh danger lurking in the air as a soft breeze rustled the leaves.
“Eaton?” Matthew asked after Peter told him about the encounter with Marshal Ryder. “How is he?”
“I don’t know,” Peter responded. “We were on our way to look for him. Right now the attacks seem to be centered on blacks, but my gut tells me this isn’t over and there is plenty of hatred to spread to black sympathizers.”
Matthew nodded, knowing Peter was right. “Let’s go. We need to find him.” Eaton had the contacts that would allow him to understand more of the entire picture.
“Have you eaten?” Crandall asked.
Matthew shook his head impatiently. “There’s not time.”
“Make time,” Crandall responded crisply. “It’s going to be another very long day. If we’re going to tell the truth about what is going on here, we have to have the energy to follow everything. Right now it’s calm, but I don’t think it will last long.”
“He’s right,” Robert said. He took Matthew by the arm and led him into the hotel dining room. “It won’t take long to eat some breakfast. We haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”
Matthew knew they were right, but he had his mouth opened to protest again when a broad smile lit his face instead. “Eaton!” He hurried toward the Memphis Post editor who was sequestered in a back corner with a small group of men with grim expressions.
Eaton broke off whatever he was saying, watching them approach with an equally broad smile. “You’re all right!” he boomed, lowering his voice when eyes turned their direction. “I was worried.”
“As were we,” Matthew replied, clapping Eaton on the shoulder. In the few days he and Robert had been staying with him, they had become close friends. He appreciated the editor’s clear thinking, his sense of justice, and his deep love for America.
Eaton’s smile faded as he waved his hand toward the empty chairs around the table and waited while they all took a seat. He made quick introductions and then picked up a paper lying on the table. “This is from the Argus newspaper,” he said, his eyes flashing angrily as he read.
There can be no mistake about it. The whole blame of this most tragical and bloody riot lies with the poor, ignorant, deluded blacks who have been led into their present evil and unhappy ways by men of our own race.
Matthew snorted. “That’s preposterous!” His fists clenched as he recalled the black bodies lying in the streets. “They dare to call that news? It is nothing but lies!”
Eaton responded by picking up another paper. “This is from the Avalanche.” He searched for where he wanted to read and began.
The police deserve the very highest credit for the gallant conduct they exhibited in enforcing the majesty of the law when the messengers of death were hurled at them on all sides. Our noble policemen are towers of might, and purpose and courage…
He laid the paper down, cleared his throat, and waited for comment.
Matthew stared at him, trying to find words to express his outrage.
“Are they in the same city we are in?” Robert finally asked, his voice ripe with indignation and fury.
“I’m thinking it would be a good paragraph in a fiction book,” Crandall snapped, “but it has nothing to do with what is happening in this city.”
“Can you prove that?” Eaton pressed.
Crandall met his eyes. “Peter and I were out most of the night watching policemen attack helpless black citizens. We never saw one black draw a weapon or even resist. These papers are making up lies and presenting them as the truth.”
Matthew reached for the paper and read the passage again. When he looked up, his eyes were blazing. “They’ve gone too far,” he said quietly. “The people who wrote and printed those lies are just as guilty of the deaths as are the ones who actually did the killing. I’m sick of the media using its power to create their own reality. The entire nation will have the truth of what is really happening here.”
“Good,” Eaton snapped. “They will accuse me of being too subjective because I live here. I’m sorry you have to be here, but I’m also relieved you’re here to tell the story.” He heaved a heavy sigh as he glanced out toward the street. “As sick as I feel, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“You warned us,” Matthew replied tightly.
Eaton shook his head. “I never dreamed it would get this bad,” he admitted. “I’m not surprised by the violence, but even in my worst nightmares I didn’t envision this.” He gripped the paper in his hands and shook it toward the four men. “Go out and get the truth,” he growled.
Matthew nodded but reached out to grip Eaton’s arm. “You’re in danger,” he warned, glancing at Peter.
Peter reported what had happened last night with Ryder, but Eaton never blinked. “Let them come,” he growled. “They will have to kill me to keep me from telling the truth.”
Matthew hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He knew they were in for another day of violence.
From his position on the fort wall Moses watched the streets as the sun climbed into a brilliantly clear sky. They remained quiet. He saw a few blacks venturing forth hesitantly, the first activity he had seen since the horror of the long night.
Roy joined him, watching silently for several minutes before he spoke. “We got to get out there. Most of the men they attacked are probably dead,” he said bitterly, “but there might be some we can save. If nothing else, we can at least collect their bodies.”
Moses nodded. “It’s time,” he agreed soberly.
Roy’s eyes widened. “You’re going with us?”
“There doesn’t seem to be any danger right now, but that could change. I don’t believe this is over. If we’re going to find your friends, we need to do it now.” He couldn’t explain his sudden compulsion to leave the fort, but he was learning to follow his feelings. “We need to keep the group small so we don’t lose control.”
Roy nodded quietly, knowing the actions of the group that had emerged from the fort the day before had played a part in igniting the violence that followed. “I’ll get some men we can trust,” he promised.
A few minutes later, fifteen men followed Moses and Roy out of the gate. They moved quietly through the streets, nodding solemnly at the few blacks peering forth from their homes.
“Is it safe out there?” one elderly woman called, her eyes wide with fright. “Can we come out?”
“Stay inside,” Moses advised. “This
isn’t over. You’ll be safe inside.”
The old woman snorted. “Tell that to the young women who were raped last night,” she snapped.
Moses stiffened, stopped, and walked over to the slender woman with silvery hair and wrinkled, leathery cheeks. “What are you talking about?”
“Them policemen were all back last night. They didn’t leave ‘til early this morning. They were breakin’ into homes and stealin’ whatever they wanted.” Tears filled the old woman’s eyes. “They were taking anythin’ else they wanted, too.” She nodded to the shanty next to her. “I heard what they did to Rachel. And I heard her crying the rest of the night. And she have them two little children in there, too.” She shook her head helplessly, her eyes pleading with him to do something.
Moses’s blood boiled with anger. He saw renewed fury and pain erupt on the faces all around him. Every one of the men who were with him had family in the city. He knew exactly what they were feeling. He also knew Roy had chosen these men because their wives and children were all safely sequestered in the fort. They could be counted on to fulfill their mission.
He reached down and laid his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Stay inside,” he ordered gently. “We’ll do what we can.” As he started walking again, his mind was spinning with the new information. He knew that kind of violence wouldn’t die out overnight. He could feel the black clouds of hatred forming again, heading toward South Memphis.
His attention was caught by a small group of people standing in front of the schoolhouse on the corner of South and Causey. His eyes widened when he realized they were children. He hurried forward, ready to tell them to go home. Before he could open his mouth, Horatio Rankin, a black missionary from the North who ran the school, reached the students.
“You are all incredibly brave,” Rankin said gently, “but there will be no school today. I don’t believe the danger is over. You must all go home immediately.”
