by Ginny Dye
“I’m sorry,” Anderson said gruffly.
Matthew sighed. “I know you had no control to stop it.”
“No,” Anderson agreed, bitterness lacing his voice. “What happened here was wrong. I am ashamed our government let it happen.”
Matthew nodded. “I am, too,” he said heavily. “Memphis was terrible, but this was far worse.”
Anderson’s eyes swept the room again. “How did this happen?” he asked again.
Matthew swallowed and then told him.
Anderson stared at him, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. He finally found them. “The police did this? While the people were trying to surrender?”
Matthew nodded. The telling of the story had been almost as terrifying as living it. “I have to get out of here,” he murmured. His lungs suddenly felt starved for air. His head started to whirl as he gasped for breath. “I gotta get out of here.”
Anderson held him firmly as they moved toward the door.
Matthew fought to control his vomit as they squished through pools of blood on the landing, walking carefully around dead bodies that filled the stairwell. He broke down in tears when he recognized one of the men staring up at him with sightless eyes.
“Do you know him?” Anderson asked gently.
“That’s Ralph,” Matthew gasped. “The man who warned me yesterday.”
Anderson nodded grimly and led him outside into the sultry air.
The air wrapped around him while the putrid aroma of bodies bloated by the intense heat hit Matthew in the face. His heart began to pound wildly as he fought to pull air into his lungs.
“Somebody get over here!” Anderson shouted.
Matthew felt Anderson’s arms grab him as the blackness swallowed him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Matthew woke to the feel of a cool compress on his head. He lay still, confusion swamping him. Where was he? Suddenly the events of the day came swarming back. He groaned.
“Mr. Justin?”
Matthew opened his eyes reluctantly, wishing he could just slide back into the oblivion. When his vision cleared, he identified an elderly white woman with snowy hair. Bright blue eyes shining with concern and compassion gazed down at him.
“Welcome back,” she said softly.
Matthew could only stare at her. He didn’t want to be back. He didn’t want to have to remember the pile of dead bodies…the pleading voices…the hatred…He groaned and closed his eyes again.
The woman continued speaking softly. “The city is under martial law now. Most of the wounded have been removed from the jail and are now in the hospital.”
“How many dead?” Matthew asked, his eyes still closed.
“They don’t know yet.”
The hesitant tone in her voice told Matthew just how bad it was. He gritted his teeth.
“My name is Abby Youngers.”
Matthew’s eyes opened reluctantly. “I know another woman named Abby,” he said. This time he kept his eyes open long enough to inspect his caregiver. “You have eyes like she does.” He moved restlessly. “Where am I?”
“My home onn the far east side of New Orleans. Colonel Anderson had his men bring you here.”
“You know Colonel Anderson?”
“He is married to my sister,” Abby revealed.
Matthew looked at her with surprise. Her accent clearly identified her as a southerner.
Abby smiled. “My sister left New Orleans years ago for school in the North. She was quite a bit younger than me. She never came back.”
Matthew tried to remember what he knew about Anderson’s wife, but he drew a blank. “She’s not here in the city now?”
“No. She refused to come. She didn’t want their children exposed to southern bigotry.” Abby’s matter-of-fact voice held no rancor. “I have tried to give the colonel a feeling of home. He comes here for meals whenever he can get away.”
“You don’t resent him?” Matthew asked, trying to understand why he was here.
“Why would I?” Abby asked gently.
“He’s a Yankee. He fought for the Union. Your city is now under military control once again.”
Abby nodded calmly. “As it should be.”
Matthew looked at her sharply. “You’re a Unionist?”
“I prefer to not be labeled,” Abby said evenly. “I would rather just be seen as a woman who believes all people are created equal. I believe there have been horrible mistakes made on both sides during the last six years. I am quite sure more will be made.”
Matthew appreciated her candor enough to respond with the same. “I’ve never seen such hatred as I experienced today.” He closed his eyes as he fought off a shudder. “How will our country ever survive this kind of prejudice?”
Abby grimaced. “I learned a long time ago that there are some people with so little brains or ability that all they have to be proud of is the color of skin they happened to be born with. We’ve got a lot of those in New Orleans.”
Matthew’s lips twitched as he stared into her indignant eyes.
Abby laid another cool cloth on his head. “Hating people because of their color is wrong. It doesn’t matter which color does the hating. It’s just plain wrong.”
“Yes, but there is a lot of it happening.” Matthew wanted to blot out the images filling his mind, but they still swarmed in. He closed his eyes as they wrapped around his heart and squeezed it tightly.
“So you just decide to hate, too? You believe that will make things better?”
Matthew’s eyes flew to her. He didn’t bother to ask how Abby could see into his heart. He shook his head, trying to make sense of the haze filling him. “I’ve tried not to,” he murmured. “I was in Memphis during the riot there. I thought nothing could be more horrible.”
“Until you came here?”
“Yes,” Matthew said bluntly.
“And now you have no hope for our country.” Abby stated.
Matthew turned his head to look out the window, seeing nothing but darkness. It was just the way he felt inside. He didn’t have an answer — at least not one he wanted to admit to.
“Can I ask you a question, Matthew?”
Matthew nodded silently, his insides churning.
“If you knew that hope and despair were paths to the same destination, which one would you choose?”
Matthew considered her question. The answer seemed obvious, but he knew she was asking for another reason. He mulled the question in his mind, knowing she would give him time to ponder it. As he stared into the night he realized that whether he liked it or not, the sun was going to rise on the United States in the morning. Decisions were going to be made, and lives were going to be impacted. A new day would begin…A new day that would roll into months, years, decades, and centuries. There was nothing that was going to stop the passage of time.
If you knew that hope and despair were paths to the same destination, which one would you choose? Matthew smiled slightly. “Are all women wise?”
Abby chuckled. “No, but most of us have far more time to think then men do because too many of you seem to believe we have nothing worthwhile to say.”
This time Matthew was able to respond with a small chuckle of his own. “I know far too many wise women to ever think that,” he protested.
“Yes, I know that.”
Matthew looked at her. “I thought you said the colonel’s men dropped me off?”
“The colonel told me all about you months ago,” Abby said softly. “Did you think he would forget that you saved his life after the escape from Libby Prison?”
Matthew shook his head. “Neither one of us will ever forget that time. He helped keep me going…”
“When you were in Rat Dungeon,” Abby finished for him. She laid a hand on his shoulder tenderly. “Matthew, you have experienced many reasons to give up hope.”
Matthew appreciated the warmth of her hand. The feel of it gave him courage to gaze into her eyes. “I’m afraid,”
he said hoarsely.
“Of course you are,” Abby agreed. “You would be a fool if you weren’t. I’ve had many things to be afraid of,” she said gently, “but hope has carried me through. I learned a long time ago that hope is some extraordinary spiritual grace God gives us to control our fears, not make them nonexistent.” She reached up and stroked his hair. “Now go to sleep. The colonel will be back in the morning. You can get all your questions answered then.”
Matthew stared into her eyes, drawing hope and strength from the light he saw shining there. Then he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Matthew opened his eyes again. He was surprised to see Abby still sitting beside his bed, knitting calmly. “Were you here all night?”
Abby smiled and set her knitting aside. “No. You slept peacefully through the night. I simply wanted to be here when you woke. I wasn’t sure you would remember where you are.”
Matthew was surprised how well he had slept. He knew Abby’s tender words had banished the worst of the memories so that he could sleep. “Thank you for what you said last night.”
Abby nodded calmly. Then she stood. “I’ll be right back.” When she returned, Colonel Anderson was by her side.
“Anderson!” Matthew exclaimed. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, relieved when the world remained steady.
Anderson stared at him for a long moment. Then, apparently satisfied with what he saw, he looked back at his sister-in-law. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
Abby smiled. “He was a delight. There was nothing wrong with him except severe dehydration and heat exhaustion. Once I got enough water in him, I knew he would be fine.”
Matthew smiled softly. The gift she had given him was far greater than liquid.
Abby’s eyes twinkled at him as she turned to leave the room. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Anderson sat down in the chair Abby had just abandoned, his eyes heavy with fatigue. “You’re sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” Matthew insisted. “What is happening out there?”
“It was a long night, but the city is under control. Martial law has been declared. General Baird appointed Major General Kautz as military governor.”
Matthew smiled slightly. “I wish I could have been there when Governor Monroe was removed from office.”
“It was satisfying,” Anderson revealed. “He protested, but he no longer has any legal authority in New Orleans.”
“Abby dodged my question about just how bad things were,” Matthew said quietly. When Anderson hesitated, he reached out and grabbed his arm. “I lived it,” Matthew said flatly. “I want to know.”
“Close to fifty dead, I think. We won’t know the final numbers for a while.”
“Wounded?”
Anderson shrugged. “Hundreds,” he said sadly. “But those are just the ones in the hospital. I have no idea how many are being cared for by friends or family. We may never know.”
Matthew absorbed the information. “The police?”
Anderson hesitated again but met his eyes squarely. “They did exactly what you said they would do…” His voice thickened as it trailed off. “They killed or beat as many blacks as they could find. They also attacked white Republicans who have vowed to stand with the blacks.” His eyes shifted away.
“But they’ll probably get away with it just like they did in Memphis,” Matthew snapped.
Anderson turned his eyes back. “I’ve already begun to hear their stories. They are blaming it on the blacks, saying they started it.”
“And so that gives them the right to slaughter unarmed men?” Matthew felt ill. The massacre had been bad enough. The reality that there would probably be no justice made it even more unbearable. He pushed away the feeling of futility trying to consume him. He could face what had happened with despair or hope. As difficult as it was, he had decided to choose hope.
“All of this is going to backfire on the South,” Anderson said firmly. “This is going to do nothing but increase the perception in the North that white southerners are determined to unleash a reign of terror on the freedmen.”
“It’s more than a perception,” Matthew growled.
“And as horrible as it is, I believe it is the wakeup call that was needed,” Anderson said thoughtfully. “The South has made it clear they have no intention of submitting to Yankee rule. It is clear they have refused to accept the verdict arrived at by four years of bloody war.”
Matthew considered his words. “The elections are coming up,” he added, feeling his first real spark of hope.
“Sentiment has already been turning away from President Johnson and the Democrats determined to follow his lead. People in the North have had all they are going to take. The elections will give absolute power to the Republicans. That is our only hope that things will change for the freedmen.”
Matthew considered his words. The elections were to be held in November. Would they really change things? He wanted to believe it, but his hold on hope was tentative at best.
Anderson watched him closely. “Are you going to stay in the city to write the stories the way you did in Memphis?”
Matthew considered the question carefully. He had been sure that he wouldn’t when he was hiding under the platform the day before. Abby’s gentle questions that had led him to renewed hope had also caused him to wonder if he should stay, but he slowly shook his head. “No. I have plenty of information to tell the story.” He took a deep breath, feeling a surge of freedom when he made his decision. He would tell the story, but it was time for him to leave. “I’m going to Philadelphia as soon as I can catch a train out of this lovely city.”
“I understand,” Anderson said gruffly. He reached into his pocket. “I stopped by your hotel room on the way here to get you a change of clothes. They gave me this letter.”
Matthew smiled when he saw Janie’s handwriting. He tore it open quickly and devoured the contents.
Dear Matthew,
Wonderful news! We have discovered we have a ten-day break from school starting on Wednesday, August 1. Carrie’s father has sent tickets for all of us to come home to the plantation. To say we are excited would be putting it very mildly! All of us are eager to get out of the city and breathe some real air. I don’t know when you are going to be leaving New Orleans, but if it is possible for you to get away to the plantation, it would be so wonderful to have you there!
Sincerely,
Janie
Matthew smiled and folded the letter.
“Good news?” Anderson asked.
“Very good news.” Matthew felt a surge of energy as his heart pounded with anticipation. He stood and reached for the clothing Anderson was holding. “I’m leaving today for Richmond. Then I’m going out to Cromwell Plantation.”
He was quite sure he would never return to New Orleans.
Thomas and Abby were waiting on the platform when Matthew swung from his train car. He hurried forward, surprised anyone had come to meet him. He had telegraphed of his arrival, but he had planned on walking up to the house as he was sure they would be working. His heart leapt with gladness as he waved at them. “What are you two doing here?”
Thomas hurried forward, his eyes dark with concern. “How are you, my boy?”
Matthew suddenly understood. “You heard about New Orleans?” He hadn’t had the heart to do any more than telegraph he was coming home.
“Colonel Anderson sent us a long telegram informing us what you have been through. We received it early this morning. I am so sorry.”
“Anderson sent you a telegram?” Matthew asked, reminded once again of just how good a friend he was. Abby stepped forward and silently wrapped her arms around him. Matthew sighed as her warmth spread through him.
“I know it was horrible,” she finally murmured.
Matthew didn’t bother to deny it. He finally stepped back, the ache in his heart not quite so searing. “When are the
others arriving?”
Abby’s look said she understood he wasn’t ready to talk about it. “In about an hour.” Her face lit up with a glorious smile. “We are so excited to have them home. To have you home, too, is just the icing on the cake.”
“All of them are coming?”’
Abby laughed. “Yes. Elizabeth, Alice, and Florence can hardly wait to visit a real southern plantation.” She understood when Matthew hesitated. “Nothing has happened since the Fourth of July party. The vigilantes have not returned,” she assured him.
Matthew thought about the looks of hatred and cold purpose he had seen in New Orleans. “They will,” he said flatly. He hated his certainty, and he regretted the concern that erupted in Abby’s eyes, but it was best they be prepared.
Thomas frowned. “Perhaps, but I doubt they will do it when all of us are there. The vigilantes work under a cloak of secrecy. They are going to be less bold now that they know Moses is aware of their identity. They also prefer to prey on the weak — not armed men and women who know how to shoot a weapon,” he added grimly.
Matthew hoped he was right, but he doubted it. He would keep any more thoughts to himself though, because he knew Thomas wanted to alleviate Abby’s fears, and he wouldn’t want the girls to be afraid. He was quite certain the vigilantes would return, however. He had seen the results of wounded southern pride twice now.
He also knew how careful everyone was being. They couldn’t do more than that. It would benefit no one if they walked around in constant fear of what could happen. He glanced toward the carriage, taking note of the armed guard seated beside Spencer. “How’s Jeremy?”
“Both of his casts are off, and he’s working full-time again,” Abby replied. “He’s also marvelously in love with Marietta. Just watching them together makes me happy!”
Matthew grinned, glad to have something take his mind off what he had left behind in New Orleans. “Have they set a date for their wedding yet?”
