by Ginny Dye
“Jeremy?”
“Marietta?” Jeremy whispered. He wanted to reach out to her, but any movement sent waves of pain rolling through him.
“Yes, I’m here,” Marietta said tenderly. “Matthew came for me last night.” She interpreted the look on his face. “It’s Tuesday night. You’ve been sleeping for the last twenty-four hours. May and I have taken turns putting cold compresses on your face to bring the swelling down.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy whispered. In spite of the unrelenting pain, he felt a surge of joy that Marietta had cared enough to stay with him. The last months had drawn them closer together, but he’d said nothing else about his love for her since that cold, winter night. She had asked for time. He was willing to give it to her. His love had done nothing but grow stronger and more certain.
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.” When she spoke next, he knew she was crying. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
Jeremy lay quietly, knowing any movement might render him unconscious again. “It was so dark,” he whispered. “I didn’t see…anyone.”
“I know,” Marietta assured him. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“I want to,” Jeremy gasped. His dreams had been full of the attack. Now that he was awake, he was anxious to tell Marietta what he remembered. It was only fair that she know the truth. He tried to look around the room to see if they were alone, but he couldn’t move his head. “Is anyone else here?”
“We’re alone,” she said quietly as she took one of his hands.
He was suddenly aware of a pain radiating up from his arms when she touched him. “What…?”
“Both your arms are broken,” she answered, anger flaring in her voice. “And several ribs. Breathing is going to be difficult for some time.”
Jeremy lay still, trying to absorb what she was telling him. He wanted to scream and rage, but he knew any movement was more than he could handle. He was appalled when sudden hot tears scalded his eyes, but he couldn’t stop them. If was as if his body belonged to another person.
Marietta stroked his hair softly, giving him time to regain control. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered again. “So very sorry.”
“You have to leave me,” Jeremy managed to say.
“What?” Marietta sounded shocked. “Why?”
Jeremy wished he could see her clearly, but between his swollen eyes and the waves of pain still rolling in his head, it was impossible to focus. “They came after me because of what I’ve been doing,” he said weakly, vivid memories raging through his mind as he slowly forced the words out.
You think you can fire a white man?
You think we’re going to let a nigger lover live in our city?
Their taunts had been followed with vicious kicks and bat blows to his head and body. He could vaguely remember the sound of bones cracking when he tried to use his arms to shield his head.
“Shh…” Marietta laid a hand on his lips. “It’s too soon to talk about it.”
Jeremy tried to shake his head, but the only result was another loud groan escaping his lips. He was desperate for her to understand. “You’re not safe,” he murmured. “Not safe…”
More memories swallowed him.
You think we don’t know, Mr. Anthony?
You think we don’t know you’re a nigger, too?
You think we don’t know you’re helping the niggers because you’re one, too?
Jeremy closed his eyes to try to block out the vicious beating that accompanied the mocking voices, fear swelling in his chest until he could hardly breathe. Trying to breathe only intensified the pain roaring through his body.
You think we don’t know about that white school teacher who is a nigger lover? We’ll get her, too, Jeremy Anthony!
Frantic now, he forced his eyes open and tried to rise to a sitting position. He had to warn her! He had to make her leave.
Jeremy groaned as he sank back into the blackness.
When Jeremy woke again, he was able to open his eyes more. He moved his head gingerly, glad when the movement caused only a dull throb to erupt.
“Better?” Marietta asked.
Jeremy’s gaze flew to where she was sitting beside the bed. Her bright blue eyes were red with exhaustion, but she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The knowledge only intensified his pain. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, glad to discover his voice sounded more normal.
“Where else would I be?” Marietta asked, amusement lacing her voice.
“I told you,” Jeremy replied. “You’re not safe.” Desperation once more gripped his body. The nightmares as he slept had been terrible, but they were somehow easier to bear than the stark reality of facing the truth in broad daylight. “You must leave me.”
“You don’t love me anymore?” Marietta asked.
Jeremy searched for words. He fell back on the simple truth. “Yes, but…”
“I love you too,” Marietta said softly.
Jeremy stared at her, trying to make sense out of what she had said. “What?”
“I said, I love you too,” Marietta repeated firmly. “As long as you haven’t changed your mind, you should probably be glad about that.” Warm humor sparkled in her eyes.
Jeremy wanted to shake his head vehemently, but he knew it would only make him pass out again. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, determined to remain conscious until she fully comprehended the danger she was in. “You can’t be with me. I’m a mulatto. I’m going to mean nothing but trouble to you.”
Marietta put a hand across his mouth. “Hush,” she said firmly. “I’m a lot of things, but I’ve never been a coward. I knew the risk I was taking when I came down to teach black students in the South. Every time I walk out of my boarding house I am putting myself into danger.”
“But—”
“I said to hush,” Marietta repeated. “I have not fallen in love with either a white man or a mulatto. I have fallen in love with you. I am ashamed to admit it took me some time to figure out how I would feel about the possibility of raising a black child in this world, but the simple truth is that it just doesn’t matter. When Matthew arrived to tell me about the attack, I realized that nothing was more important than being with you. I understood how ridiculous it was to give up what we have simply because of what might happen. I also know that if we do have a black child, we will love that child and do whatever we have to in order to give it a good life.” She fell silent for a moment and then leaned over to kiss him very lightly. “I love you, Jeremy Anthony.”
Jeremy stared at her, joy obliterating the pain in his body as he heard the passion in her voice. He longed to reach up and pull her close, but he had to content himself with devouring her with his eyes. “I love you too, Marietta Anderson. I will love you forever.”
“That sounds about right,” Marietta whispered. “All you have to do now is focus on getting well. Dr. Wild says it will take several weeks before you’ll be ready to go back to work. Is it terrible of me to be excited we’ll have so much time together? I told May I will be here every afternoon as soon as school is finished for the day. I’ve had someone take my students the last couple days, but it’s time for me to go back.”
Jeremy gazed at her, hardly able to believe Marietta really loved him. “Will you marry me?” he asked.
“Well, of course! How are you going to love me forever if we’re not married, silly?”
Jeremy smiled, wishing he could release the laugh of joy burning in his chest. A flash of memories made him stiffen with fear instead. “You’re not safe,” he insisted.
Thomas walked in the room just then. “She will be, Jeremy. The purpose of money is to make sure the people you love are safe. The factory is hiring armed guards to accompany all of us for as long as it’s necessary. That includes Marietta.”
Jeremy gazed at Thomas for a long minute, reassured by the grim determination on his face. “She loves me,” he said quietly.
“Well, of course she
does,” Thomas replied. “I tried to tell her you can be quite stubborn at times, but she promised me she can handle you, so I decided she knows what she is getting into.”
When Jeremy fell asleep again, it was a healing sleep free from terrifying images.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Moses swung down from his gelding and took deep breaths of the morning air. Tobacco spread out in a green wave as far as the eye could see. Just as he had promised Thomas, every available acre had been planted. The crop was healthy and vibrant.
Summer had grabbed hold of Cromwell Plantation in a tight grip, but the early morning air didn’t yet carry the sultry humidity that would hover over the tobacco fields by the afternoon. The men had started working as soon as there was enough light to see what they were doing.
Moses watched as a group of them ran harrows down the rows to turn under weeds and push dirt against the roots of the tobacco plants. He could almost see the towering plants responding by sending their taproots deeper into the soil where moisture was more abundant. They’d had plenty of rain, but deeper taproots made for healthier plants.
Another group of workers were topping and suckering — removing the emerging flowers from the top of the tobacco plants, as well as removing the buds that were pushing out lower on the plants. It was tedious work that allowed all the nutrients to go to the leaves instead of to the flowers, causing the plant to grow longer into the summer and produce a greater harvest.
The worming was being done by the children, but Moses had set very strict guidelines for them. He only allowed them to work in the early mornings, and then they would go to school when it was too hot for them in the fields. He had also mandated that every child would receive payment for their labor. He would do nothing to make anyone feel they were still living in the days of slavery. If someone worked, they should be paid. He knew how disgusting it was to walk through the rows of the tobacco plants and pull off the horned, green worms, but it had to be done. The children were stuffing them into a large bag hanging from their shoulders. They would be tossed into a barrel later that day where they would be killed.
“Hello, Mr. Moses!” one of the children called.
Moses smiled at the gangly ten year old with caramel-colored skin. “Hello, Stan. How are you doing?”
“Oh, I be doing real good,” Stan said cheerfully. “I can hardly wait for the picnic later. My mama was up real late cookin’. Our new house sure did smell good when I got up this morning.” The little boy beamed up at him. “We just got our new house finished two days ago. I heard my daddy tell mama that he didn’t ever think we would ever have us our own house. He sure does like it.”
“And you, Stan? Do you like it too?”
“Why, sure I do. I ain’t never slept on nothing but a blanket on the floor before this. When my daddy was off fighting, me and mama were in one of them camps. It weren’t too bad, but now I got me a bed to sleep in.” His eyes widened. “Can you imagine that? I got me my very own bed!”
Moses smiled. “I’m happy for you.” A call lifted up across the tobacco plants and caught Moses’s attention. “Keep working, Stan. I’ll see you at the party later.”
“Yessir, Mr. Moses,” Stan quipped, but he didn’t move. “Can I ask you just one more thing, Mr. Moses?” He ducked his head and then looked back up earnestly. “Is Felicia coming to the party?”
Moses smiled. “Of course she is. She wouldn’t miss it. Now you get back to work.”
A chorus of goodbyes from the other children followed Moses as he worked his way down through the tobacco plants toward Simon, chuckling over the look in Stan’s eyes. He wasn’t the only boy on the plantation who had his eye on Felicia. “The tobacco is looking great,” he said as soon as he reached him.
“You say that every day,” Simon observed.
“That’s because it’s true every day,” Moses responded good-naturedly. “Everyone made good money last year in spite of how late we got the crop in. Now, with every acre planted, they should be excited about how well it is doing.” Thomas’s decision to pay everyone a portion of the profits had been brilliant. He had never seen men work so hard, or so cheerfully.
Simon grinned. “We’re all excited,” he agreed. “But right now everyone is just thinking about tonight. None of us have ever celebrated the Fourth of July before.”
“What was there to celebrate?” Moses asked. “The country may have been free from England but most of the blacks were slaves. I remember watching celebrations on the plantation where I grew up. I always wondered how they could celebrate freedom when they didn’t care about mine.”
“Well, now we’re free,” Simon said firmly. “And now that all the houses have been finished, this is the perfect time for a party.”
Moses nodded, filled with deep satisfaction. The men had all worked together, finishing one home before they moved on to the next. They had decided the order by the undeniably fair method of drawing straws. After long days in the fields, they would go back to their land to build their homes. Robert, Moses, Gabe, and Clint joined them most nights. No one complained. They were creating something for themselves.
The last of the ten families had left their cabin in the old slave quarters for their own home on their own forty-acre parcel of land the week before. None of the homes were large, but Moses knew they would be added onto in the years ahead, and they were far bigger than anything any of them had lived in before. Most importantly, they were theirs.
While the men had been building, the wives and children had been putting in gardens and fencing off areas for their chickens and pigs. Everyone was eager for a party. It had been decided it would take place at Simon and June’s new homestead instead of the plantation because everyone wanted to celebrate the first step in building their own community. Invitations had gone out to neighbors and friends.
Rose had called off school for the day in celebration of America’s birthday. She, Annie, June, and Polly were cooking up a storm, as were all the men’s wives. His mama had threatened him with her rolling pin when he had tried to snatch some of the sugar cookies off the table earlier, so he had retreated with empty hands, the women’s laughter following him from the house. His stomach growled as he thought about it.
“I had to turn away four more workers yesterday,” Simon announced.
Moses frowned. “That’s twenty just this week.”
“The news is spreading about how Cromwell Plantation treats its workers. Anybody with a lick of sense would rather work here.”
Moses knew he was right, and he was proud of that fact, but his thoughts were troubled as he stared out over the tobacco.
“You’re worried about the other plantation owners and their foremen. You have a right to be,” Simon admitted. “They don’t take kindly to anyone tempting their workers away from their contracts.”
“Do you know where the men came from?” Moses asked.
“Two of them said they were working at Sowell’s place. The other two told me they had been contracted to work for Cannon.”
Moses sucked in his breath, his mind spiraling back. “You know who they are, don’t you?” he asked sharply.
Simon started to shake his head and then stopped, his eyes growing wide. “Two of the men who came to threaten Thomas on New Year’s Day?”
“The same,” Moses said grimly. “How did the men take it when you told them we couldn’t hire anyone right now?”
Simon shrugged. “They were disappointed. They said they would be back to try again because they hated working and hardly getting paid.”
Moses sighed. He knew how most of the freedmen were being treated on the plantations. Even though the Civil Rights Act had passed, and even though the Fourteenth Amendment had been sent out to the states for ratification, it had done little to change the attitudes of southerners. Even though the workers were free, they were still being treated like slaves. He knew many families were close to starvation because they were not being paid.
“You can’t help
everyone,” Simon said with quiet understanding.
Moses clenched his fists as frustration surged through him. He knew Simone was right. He also knew Rose was right that they needed to stay on the plantation for at least another year, but he hated feeling helpless to make a difference. He knew life was better for the ten families who had received land from Thomas, and he knew the twenty extra workers he had hired for the summer were receiving fair pay, but he also knew they didn’t even count as a drop in the bucket.
“There hasn’t been any trouble since the schoolhouse burned,” Simon reminded him.
Moses nodded. That was true, but he could feel trouble brewing in the air, pressing down on him just as heavily as the humidity that would hang over the fields soon. He had felt it in Memphis before the riot. After talking to Simon, he could feel the weight of it again. “Are the women and children alone on the homesteads?” he asked sharply.
“Most of them. June and my boy are on the plantation today, but I think everyone else is getting ready for the party this afternoon.”
Moses scowled. He didn’t want to overreact, but he also wanted to be careful. He knew it was impossible for the men to work the fields and also watch over their homesteads, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling that trouble was coming. Lives were more important than tobacco worms and profits. He listened to the cheerful calls of the men as they worked. He felt a deep responsibility to do all he could to keep everyone safe. Most of the men working the fields had also served with him during the war. When his eyes fell on the children intently plucking tobacco worms from the plants, he made his decision.
“Tell the men we are taking the rest of the day off,” he announced.
