“Samuel Freedman,” Samuel replied, clearly frustrated by the man’s lack of attention.
“Not yours. Your relative’s.”
“Sophia and Ella.”
“Last name?” the man asked without looking up.
“We have reason to believe they would use Brown.”
“Last known location?” Mr. Brooke continued.
“North Carolina.”
“Can you be more specific?” the man asked.
“Hope,” Samuel replied.
“You hope you can be specific?” the man asked.
“No, sir,” Samuel explained. “They were sold from Fair Oaks near Charles City to Hope Plantation in North Carolina. Senator Stone was the owner at the time.”
“Age?” the man went on.
“Nine and twelve,” Samuel replied.
The man sighed. “Now or then?”
“Now.”
“When were they sold?” he asked.
“In 1864.”
The man looked up, his lips pursed in concern. He sighed and said, “After emancipation.” He shook his head slowly. “I moved here to be of service to a righteous goal, but I fear it is our cause that is lost.” The man stared off into space and then asked, “Where are you from?”
“Ohio,” Samuel said.
The man gave a wry smile. “How about that?” he declared. “Me too. Sixteenth Division.”
Samuel said more than asked, “Then you saw the Battle of Shiloh.”
The man nodded. “It was as bad as you’ve heard. You?”
Samuel replied, “Fifth Regiment United States Colored Troops.”
“Then you’ve been to Virginia before,” the man said. Apparently he was one of those who tracked where various troops fought.
“Yes, I have,” Samuel replied. Jordan noticed Samuel didn’t reveal that he had been born in Virginia, and she understood why. People treated you differently when they learned you were a slave, and he didn’t bring it up casually, especially with White people.
Mr. Brooke got an intense look on his face and said, “After the war I wanted to make sure our fighting, and dying, was for something, so I signed up to work for the bureau. Don’t make the same mistake I did and think you can make a difference here. There is nothing we can do to assure the liberties of the freedman. Go back to Ohio. When this office closes I am heading home to be of help there. My mother has sacrificed enough. My brother lost a leg. My father’s nerves are shot. My mama needs me.”
He stared at Samuel, waiting for a reply.
“I understand, sir. I’ll take your advice under consideration, but for now, while you’re still here and I’m still here, we’d appreciate anything you can do to reunite us with our nieces.”
“Description,” the man continued.
Samuel answered as best as he could. There was so little information to go on that Jordan had little hope Sophia and Ella would ever be found.
“Don’ you have a list you can look on? See if you already knows about ’em?” Mama asked Mr. Brooke.
The man looked at her like he was surprised she could even talk. He clicked his tongue and pulled out a printed piece of paper.
“I don’t suppose you can read?” the man asked.
“My sister and I are both well educated,” Samuel replied. “She is a teacher. I am a lawyer.”
“Hm,” the man grunted. He spun the paper around until it faced Samuel. “Feel free to look this over then.”
They did, but they didn’t see any information that might lead them to Ella or Sophia. Before they left the office the man handed Mama a brochure entitled Plain Counsels for Freedmen by Clinton B. Fisk, assistant commissioner in the Freedmen’s Bureau.
Mama passed the brochure to Jordan. She skimmed through it as they walked back to Miss Grace’s. She kept reading it when they were sitting in the front room of the boardinghouse.
As she read Jordan grew more and more outraged, until finally she burst out, “Listen to this!”
I have a few words to say to you about your old master. It may be he was a very good master, or it may be he was not so good as he might have been, but that is all past now; he is your master no longer, and I earnestly advise you to live on good terms with him.
He has had a hard time of it, during the war, as well as yourselves. His wealth has melted away like wax before the fire. His near relatives, and in many cases his sons, have died on the field of battle, or have been crippled for life, and the Government will grant no pensions in their cases, because they fought not under its flag. You have been made free against his will, and all the money he paid for you might better have been sunk in the bottom of the sea.
Jordan looked up from the pamphlet and said, “The freedmen are supposed to feel compassion for their former masters because they lost money?”
She shook her head and continued reading.
Now it is natural that he should feel sore; that he should grieve over his loss; that he should be slow to adapt himself to the new state of things; and that he should be some years in putting off the airs and manners of a master, just as you find it hard to shake off the habit of slaves.
It is natural, too, that he should feel severe toward you. It is true you did not, in your servitude, agitate the questions of the day; you did not meddle with politics; you were neither Republican nor Democratic; you did not bring the war; and he admits that you behaved all through the conflict in a very proper manner. Still, whenever he sees you he can not but think of the great change, and can not avoid blaming you for it, although his better judgment tells him he ought to praise, rather than blame you.
You must think of these things, and think kindly of your old master. You have grown up with him, it may be, on the same plantation. Do not fall out now, but join your interests if you can, and live and die together.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Mama clicked her tongue. “Join your interests! This man do not know what he talking about!”
You want his money, or lands, and he wants your labor. He is not able to do without you, and you will, in most cases, find him as kind, honest, and liberal as other men. Indeed he has for you a kind of family affection, and in spite of this bad feeling, I have noticed, he desires you to do well in life. Be frank, then, with him, and treat him with respect.
Do not think that, in order to be free, you must fall out with your old master, gather up your bundles and trudge off to a strange city. This is a great mistake. As a general rule you can be as free and as happy in your old home, for the present, as anywhere else in the world.
Jordan stopped reading and looked up in disbelief. “This is from the Freedmen’s Bureau! How can they encourage the formerly enslaved to ‘think kindly of’ their former masters and ‘live and die together’?”
Miss Grace laughed. “Those Northerners think they know something, but they don’t. They’re pretending this conflict is over so they can walk away feeling good about themselves. The planters may have surrendered to the United States government, but they aren’t about to share respect or wealth with any of us. Not without a long fight.”
CHAPTER 13
LISBETH
Charles City County, Virginia
Lisbeth and Mother Johnson were preparing the midday meal while Sammy and Sadie tended to the animals with Uncle Mitch and Poppy. The kitchen in this old farmhouse was very outdated. Lisbeth would no longer take her stove and pots for granted. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the simple pleasure of cooking.
“What time is our guest arriving?” Lisbeth asked.
“Around noon,” Mother Johnson explained. “Thank you for allowing Miss Thorpe to impinge on your visit. We rarely have even one guest, let alone two—not that you are guests. It was quite a surprise when our minister asked us to host her for a meal during her travels.”
Lisbeth replied, “I think I shall find her interesting, and I am curious to learn more about the freedmen’s schools. Besides, I think it will be good for Sammy to see that there are White people worki
ng on behalf of the emancipated slaves.”
The older woman asked, “How has your visit been with your parents?”
To her surprise Lisbeth teared up at the question. She looked at her mother-in-law and said, “It’s been . . .”—she searched for the right word—“challenging. I’m honored to care for my father at this time, but it is gloomy. My mother’s attitude continues to confuse me. One day she is warm, and another she is hostile. She has no interest in knowing my children, which pains me. Julianne and Jack have taken a liking to Sadie, but I fear their influence conflicts with our values.” Lisbeth’s voice broke. “And Sammy seems to be very disappointed in me after seeing where I come from.”
Mother Johnson patted her hand.
“I am managing, but I miss Matthew. And I don’t know how much longer we will be away from him. But that’s enough about me. Do you have any news from Michael or Maggie in California?”
“The letter from this week said they had a lovely crop of apricots that fetched a good price in San Francisco,” Mother Johnson said. “Apparently the climate in Oakland is very suitable for the many kinds of fruit they are growing. They report that the community has changed in the two years they have been there; soon there will be ten thousand people living there.”
“You must miss them,” Lisbeth said.
“Aurelia and Emma have grown so much,” Mother Johnson said. “We treasure their letters, but it is not the same as being together.”
“I’m sorry all your grandchildren live far from you,” Lisbeth said, imagining the pain of being so far from her own children.
“We can manage travel to Ohio, but . . .” Her voice tightened. “I fear we may never see Aurelia and Emma again.”
Lisbeth’s chest swelled in empathy.
Mother Johnson’s eyes welled up. “California is so very far. They have encouraged us to resettle there, but we cannot imagine abandoning this home, our siblings, Mitch . . . visits with your family.”
“The changes in our nation are tearing families apart,” Lisbeth said.
Mother Johnson nodded, then mixed her biscuits in a sorrowful silence.
As Mother Johnson spoke gratitude to the Lord for these people and this food, Lisbeth strongly felt the blessing and the sorrow of this moment. Being with this part of the family was a rare treat. She wanted to savor it for herself and for her children, but she was acutely aware that it was going to be an all-too-brief visit.
Sadie held her left hand and Sammy her right. In front of her a huge stack of boiled corn and a plate of buttermilk biscuits were flanked by two roasted chickens. Father and Mother Johnson sat at the head and the foot. Mitch and Margaret Newbold Thorpe, the teacher from the freedmen’s school in Williamsburg, sat on the other side of the table. Lisbeth was excited to get a firsthand account of Miss Thorpe’s experience; however, the conversation soon took on a difficult tone.
Miss Thorpe said, “I am proud of the work I do here. It is my duty as a Christian to raise up the Negro as far as it is possible. They will never be the equal of Whites intellectually, but their hard work and cheery attitude make them earnest learners. I am grateful they are not in a position to be disheartened by comparison with White children, as Negroes’ achievements can never equal the achievement of our race.”
Sammy looked at Lisbeth, outrage in his eyes.
“You look like you have something to say to that, Sammy,” Father Johnson said.
Sammy gave a quick nod.
“Go on,” his grandfather prodded. “All voices are welcome at this table, even children’s.”
Bolstered by the encouragement, Sammy declared, “Henry is the best student in my class, and he’s a full Negro.”
The teacher replied, “You must be mistaken. Oftentimes mulattoes look like Negroes. But he must have some White blood in him.”
Sadie spoke up without any hesitation. “Miss Jordan is Negro. She’s so smart she attended Oberlin College.”
“I fear you misunderstand me. I appreciate your sentiment and your enthusiastic support of the Negro race,” Miss Thorpe explained. “I arrived at my post with the innocence of a child myself.”
Lisbeth bristled on behalf of her children. She felt compelled to enter into the discussion with this condescending woman.
“Do you believe in Negro suffrage?” Lisbeth asked.
The woman shook her head slowly. “No longer. My time as a teacher in the freedmen’s school has given me a clear understanding of Negro capacities. Blind idealism has been cut from my heart. My beliefs are grounded in the truth of experience. Negroes are not born with the capacity to understand the complexity of our electoral system.
“It is cruel to encourage them to pursue opportunities that are beyond their natural abilities. A cow cannot fly, and an eagle cannot produce milk,” Miss Thorpe proclaimed.
“What about mulattoes?” Mitch asked.
Miss Thorpe replied, “Since I am speaking frankly among friends . . . the mulattoes will do best to form their own nation where they can rise to their own level of success, unencumbered by the Negroes, similar to Liberia, only perhaps in the Caribbean rather than Africa.”
“Momma believes everyone should be able to vote, even women,” Sadie declared.
All eyes turned to Lisbeth. Her pulse quickened in fear of condescension from around the table. She took a deep breath, hoping it would help her to sound calm.
“Matthew and I both advocate suffrage for all,” Lisbeth said.
“Do you favor equality for the sexes?” Mitch asked. “You run the farm, and Matthew bears your next child?”
Laughter went around the table.
“I do work on the farm; Matthew does care for our children. We have different, but complementary roles. My desire and ability to vote will not make me less of a woman or him less of a man.”
“We are just teasing you, Sister. You do not need to be so serious,” Mitch replied. “We may not be quite as radical as you and Matthew, but we are loyal Republicans.”
“Judge Underwood shares your thinking, as do I,” Mother Johnson declared. “He argued vehemently for suffrage for women, as well as for Negro men.”
“Who?” Sammy asked.
“John Underwood is the federal judge who presided over the Virginia Constitutional Convention earlier this year,” Father Johnson explained.
Mitch inserted, “No Virginians will be voting in the upcoming presidential election—man, woman, Negro, or White.”
“Why not?” Sammy asked.
“Your Congress won’t admit us back into the Union until Virginia has a new constitution,” Mother Johnson explained. “This spring, at the Constitutional Convention, one was drafted, but it has not been ratified yet. The current draft, the Underwood Constitution as we call it, enfranchises Negroes, but not women.”
“Is there doubt that it will be ratified?” Lisbeth asked.
“There is controversy, of course. We can’t seem to stop fighting.” Mitch shook his head. He explained, “The most radical Reconstructionists wish for publicly funded education and voting rights to all people, including women, over the age of twenty-one, except for those who fought for the Confederacy. But those who fought for the Confederacy are not about to give up the franchise so easily.”
Father Johnson said, “The current draft is a compromise. It includes public education and voting rights for all men, except Confederate officers.”
“I cannot tell you how disappointed I was when I realized it was my suffrage that was negotiated away,” Mother Johnson said.
“Granny, you almost got to vote?!” Sadie chimed in. Lisbeth had thought she was in her own world, not following this conversation at all.
“Who gets to decide?” Sammy piped up.
“Decide what?” Mitch asked.
“What the constitution will be,” Sammy explained.
“We will vote on it soon,” Mitch said.
“Will women get to vote that they won’t get to vote?” Sammy asked.
The adults laugh
ed. Sammy looked hurt. Lisbeth realized that he was making a valid argument. She had been following the news about the slow return of the Confederate states to the Union. It was confusing—and the process was instructive about the limitations of the US Constitution.
“Sammy, you are noticing a perplexing paradox about our democracy,” Lisbeth said, siding with her son. “You are wondering who gets to vote about who gets to vote.”
“Yes, why doesn’t everyone get to vote?” Sammy asked, looking very confused.
Father Johnson said, “Many in the South believe it is each state’s right to decide.”
Sammy knew about the argument in theory, but living in Oberlin, he had never heard people who directly advocated for states’ rights over federal rights.
“Sammy, I think you are suggesting that the federal Constitution applies to all people in the United States, but not everyone agrees with that,” Mitch explained. “Many people argue that each state has the power to declare who is a citizen.”
“What?” Sammy asked.
Mother Johnson replied, “Do not feel bad if you are baffled, Sammy. The men of our nation are so confused by these matters that we had a war to try to settle it.”
“But rest assured, Son,” Father Johnson said, “we agree with your belief that all adults should have the rights of citizenship. But we are in the minority around here.”
Sammy looked comforted by his grandfather’s proclamation, but still perplexed by the conversation. Sadie seemed to have stopped paying any attention to the adult conversation altogether. She sat humming a song to herself, so quietly that only Lisbeth could hear her.
“I encountered a very rude and angry portion of your community this year.” Miss Thorpe drew the attention back to herself.
When all eyes were on her, she said, “The Ku Klux Klan paid a visit to one of my fellow teachers.”
“Are you certain it was them?” Mitch asked.
“They wore the sheets they are so fond of and declared that they were the true Ku Klux Klan,” she reported. “At first we thought the KKK would not hurt anyone, that it was only fun and a desire to frighten the Negroes from voting the Republican ticket, but now I know better.”
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