A Journey of Souls

by Michael McKinney

  “You're crazy lady. I'll never be like that nut case. He was a lunatic.”

  “Did he tell you his name?”

  “Yeah, Williams, Ed Williams, so what?”

  “Ed is short for Edmond. His formal name is Edmond Williams. Your name is William Edmonds, or if you like’ just call me Billy, a mirror image wouldn't you say? You might say it's like two sides of the same coin.”

  “This is — This is all crazy talk. I don't believe any of it. How do you explain my face bein’ so white? Since you have all the answers, what do you know about that?”

  “No mystery Mr Edmonds. You're a white man, a proud white man. You said that yourself. Don't you remember?' The whiter the better', those are your words. You wanted to be as white as possible. Isn't that what you said?”

  “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Oh you meant it Mr Edmonds. You meant it and now you have what you wanted.”

  “This is nuts. I'm goin’ back where I came from. I have a life back there. I have things I have to do. You're looking at the next sheriff of Early County.”

  “It's too late for Early. I mean Early County, Mr Edmonds.”

  “Not for me, it isn't.”

  “You should come with me instead.”

  “What kinda crazy woman are you? You're tryin’ to aggravate me and you're succeeding.”

  “You do seem to be getting angry Mr Edmonds.”

  “I am angry. I'm tired. I'm hungry. My feet are aching. I need to get out of this hell hole. You don't seem to understand that.”

  “The way forward is always difficult.”

  “Don't give me another sermon lady. I don't know what you're talkin about, and I don't care. This place is a nightmare and as far as I'm concerned, you're part of it. I'm not the problem here, you are. All this talk about race, who's white, who's black, I couldn't care less about it. I like my life the way it is. I'm not gonna change for anyone.”

  “Can life choose not to grow and evolve, Mr Edmonds?”

  “Grow and evolve, what kinda silly shit is that? Evolve into what, something you think I should be, so we can all be brothers and sisters and hold hands? No thanks, you might think black is beautiful, well it aint beautiful to me. You know what black is to me?”

  “Why don't you tell me, Mr Edmonds?”

  “I will. Black is dumb. Black is uncivilized. Black is ignorant. Black is ugly, always was, always will be.” He glowers at her with his face still thoroughly darkened with shoe polish.

  Brianna replies, “You may have a point.”

  “So black is definitely not my favorite color. How do ya like that lady?”

  “I'm actually very fond of lavender.”

  “Well why don't you go an’ pick some? You're just like this other idiot I was with, askin’ me these stupid questions. Get lost lady. I'm goin’ back where I came from.”

  “I'm not the one who's lost Mr Edmonds.”

  “Yeah, and once I get back home, I won't be either.”

  “Are you sure that's what you want? There's still time to make a different choice.”

  “You don't get it. Do ya? I'll have to spell it out real plain for ya. I said I don't want your world. I wanna go back to people who think like me, who talk like me, who act like me and who look like me. You know what? It wouldn't bother me if they were all in the KKK. How do ya like that?”

  “You talk lightly about those who terrorize innocent people. You surely wouldn't want to return to a world like that Mr Edmonds.”

  “Wow, You really are dense, aren't ya? Maybe you don't understand English. Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, I heard you and I understand all languages.”

  “Well, lemme be more blunt since you don't seem to get my meaning.” To underscore his words, he takes a step closer to Brianna and looks directly into her face and says, “I'd rather go to a KKK lynch party and watch a darkie get strung up than stand here and listen to you talk about your equality and civil rights.”

  “Do really mean that Mr Edmonds? Please think carefully before you answer.”

  Raising his right hand as if pledging an oath he says, “I swear to god I do. So you're wastin’ your time lady and mine.”

  “you seem to mean what you say.”

  “Every word.”

  “Why then, it seems you've just made your choice, Mr Edmonds. We don't usually send people back but in your case we'll make an exception.”

  “I don't know, and I don't care, what you're talkin’ about lady.”

  “Well, if you're sure you want to go back to the world you just described, then all you have to do is walk up that path that leads over the hill, and it will take you where you apparently want to go.”

  Turning away from the strange woman, Billy Edmonds sees the path leading away, then looks back for a moment to see the woman named Brianna is no longer there. Minutes later, he's making his way up the pathway. As he does, it seems to open up in front of him as if pulling him forward, and he soon reaches the crest of the hill. As he continues walking, he sees the landscape change with every step from the arid scenery of a sandy desert to the familiar, verdantly green countryside of his native southwestern Georgia. The path widens to become a rural, country dirt road and as he continues, everything around him becomes more and more familiar. The distinctive silhouette of pine trees against the background of a blue sky, the sight of cattle egrets foraging in a pasture and swaying Spanish moss draped from the branches of a Magnolia tree convince Billy Edmonds that he's back home or at least close to it.

  He continues onward. Then looks ahead and sees a strange looking vehicle approaching him. As it gets closer and closer, its color and shape become recognizable. It's a Model A Ford. Through the windshield, the driver’s white gloves can easily be seen as he works the steering wheel back and forth, trying to keep the narrow tires of the car in the well-worn ruts of the dirt road. The curious sight of this odd-looking vehicle is made even more bizarre by what he sees as it passes.

  With the car moving at less than twenty miles an hour, Billy Edmonds has enough time to get a clear view of its occupants. The driver is a middle-aged man with round, wire-rimmed glasses. He's accompanied by a woman seated beside him wearing an ankle-length dress fully buttoned from the neck down. Their unusual attire appears strangely out of date. The woman's full-length dress and the straw boater hat of the man seem reminiscent of a by-gone era. As the car passes the driver's unfriendly sneer is a disconcerting reminder that Billy Edmonds is not yet sure of where and what this place is. Seconds later, the Model A recedes into the distance and he continues walking. After covering several miles he sees a house near the road and as he gets closer he notices a man sitting on the front porch. Cautiously entering the front yard, he sees an old style well pump handle along the side of the house and off to one side what looks to be a small outhouse. A powerful apprehension takes over his thoughts. He remembers the Model A Ford that passed him on the road earlier and the dated apparel of the car's occupants. Billy Edmonds wonders not only where this place is but also when this place is. He stops and quickly glances in every direction. He sees no electric wires or telephone poles and no antenna or satellite dish on the roof or anywhere else in the yard. The odd notion he's somewhere in an earlier time is becoming compelling.

  As he approaches, the man sitting on the porch intercepts him.

  “What do you want boy?”

  “What's the name of this place?”

  “That's a dumb question. Don't you know where you are?”

  “No, tell me.”

  “You're in Early County boy.”

  “... Early County, I know this place.”

  Billy Edmonds notices a small table with a newspaper on it. Looking more closely, he reads its headline: ‘President Wilson Pledges Neutrality In Europe's War’ Then he looks at the top of the page and se
es the date. It reads June 17th 1915. His mind boggles for an instant and races with questions. Is this real? How can this be happening? He incredulously asks the man. “Is, ... is this 1915?”

  “That's right. Who are you boy? I never seen you before. I know you aint from around here. You have anything to do with Sheriff Freeman's horse gettin’ stole?”

  “I have no idea what you're talkin’ about.”

  “Is that so? Get out a here nigger, git!”

  “What do you mean nigger?” Looking at his hands, Billy's reminded of the shoe polish still smeared on his skin. “No, this is just shoe polish. I'm a white man.”

  “I said get out a here nigger.”

  As the man angrily reaches for his shotgun and points it at him, Billy Edmonds backs away.

  “All right, all right, I'm leavin'.”

  Moments later Billy's walking down the dirt road again and within several minutes is a few hundred feet from the irascible stranger who threatened him. He stops for a moment to glance back at the man and sees him in his front yard. With him are at least six men on horseback and several dogs barking excitedly. As he strains to see what they're doing he sees the man he spoke with pointing back at him, directing the men on horseback. Then he sees one horsemen give a quick, sharp command to the dogs and the entire pack starts running full pitch in his direction.

  The sudden, unnerving realization he is now being hunted is driven home by the sight of a half dozen men on horseback in hot pursuit behind the clamorous barking dogs now chasing him. Billy Edmonds runs as fast as he can but his only option is to find a tree to climb and hopefully stay out of reach from his pursuers. He sees one that looks suitable about sixty feet away and heads for it. As he reaches the trunk and climbs the dogs are less than a hundred feet behind him. Fueled by adrenaline, he quickly scales the lower branches and precariously lodges himself ten feet off the ground. Exhausted and clinging to safety, he hears the raucous frenzy below as the dogs bark incessantly a few feet away. Their threatening snarls are an intimidating sight but when the men on horseback arrive, their actions and demeanor are even more alarming. Dreadful expressions of burning revenge and hateful anger signal their deadly intention louder than any words.

  “That's the nigger who stole your horse Nathan.”

  “I know it.”

  Still panting and exhausted, Billy Edmonds tries to explain.

  “Look I'm not who your lookin’ for; I swear. You're makin’ a mistake. This is just shoe polish. I swear.”

  “Shut up, nigger.”

  After being pulled from the tree and manhandled by three husky men, a fearful panic sets in when Billy Edmonds sees the rope with a ready-made noose on one end.

  “Please, please, I'm a white man. I'm a white man.”

  With his hands tied behind his back, Billy Edmonds feels the snug fit of a rope being put around his neck. As he sees the other end being thrown upward into the tree, the terrible realization seizes him, he's only seconds away from being lynched. One man takes the other end of the rope, pulls out the slack and ties it to his saddle. Without warning, the rope tightens and Billy Edmonds feels his feet being lifted off the ground. As he slowly chokes to death, one of his killers taunts him.

  “You take a good look at me nigger. You know who I am? My name is Nathan Bedford Freeman. I'm sheriff here in Early County, so when you get to hell ya can tell all your friends who sent ya, damn, thievin’ nigger.”

  As Billy Edmonds feels the twitching, involuntary nerve spasms in his legs, his last tormented thoughts are laced with a cruel irony. He instantly recalls the conversation he had earlier with Tyler Freeman who said his grandfather was the sheriff of Early County and his name was Nathan Bedford Freeman. Through his final agony he remembers the newspaper dated 1915 and the Model A Ford. It all adds up. Billy Edmonds has come back to Early County, but a full century before his time, and the sheriff who's just hanged him is the same sheriff he wanted to pattern himself after when he became sheriff of the very same county. The bitter, twisted irony of his suffering is sharpened with one final taunt. While hearing his own neck bones breaking, he sees the smirking grin on the face of Nathan Bedford Freeman as he spits tobacco juice from his mouth and says, “You have a real nice day now, nigger.” With one final agonizing convulsion, his entire body twitches, consciousness ebbs and then darkness and oblivion.

  On a stretch of beach in the Caribbean sea, two beings casually walk together in the twilight hours of early evening. The sun is well below the horizon and its fading afterglow bathes the sky in the warm colors of sunset. All seems idyllic but this beautiful setting conceals a grim reality as Brianna explains to her companion.

  “Do you know where we are Calvin?”

  “We're on an island somewhere.”

  “Yes we are. This is Cuba, but it's not the Cuba most people know about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look out into the bay.”

  Calvin looks out across the water and barely visible in the distance is the unmistakable silhouette of a sailing ship with its tall mast conspicuously etched against the horizon.

  “That's a sailing ship.”

  “It's more than that Calvin. It's a slave ship. Cuba is a slave colony in the year 1826 and we are now in that place and time.”

  “The Spanish ruled Cuba at that time.”

  “And ruled with notorious cruelty. This island is a collective prison. Innocent people had their lives stolen from them and were brought here to be worked to death in the fields growing sugarcane. A terrible inhumanity reigns here. Cruelty teaches us to shun it but not everyone learns the lesson. This place and the madness that governs it is what happens when people don't.”

  “Is this the destination for Billy Edmonds?”

  “Yes, sadly it is. Only moments ago a child was born a few miles away from here and was christened ‘William’ but all will know him as ‘Billy'. As a child with dark skin, he'll quickly come to be trained for a life of bonded servitude. His body will feel the stinging lash of the whip and his life will slowly measure out countless hours of forced labor and grieving resentment. He'll live out his days and die in this awful place, ... and perhaps that will be enough.”

  “Enough for what? Calvin asks.”

  “Enough for empathy to be born through the crucible of human suffering, enough for Billy Edmonds to finally learn something every person must learn.”

  “What's that?” Calvin asks.

  “To see himself in others.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “I hope so.”

  Chapter Thirteen: The Warrior

  Another afternoon is passing for Heather Crosby and her family in Amherst, Virginia, a small town about eighty-five miles west of Richmond, where she and her two children, a son and a daughter have lived for over ten years. Mrs Crosby's husband, Tom, a captain in the Marine Corps has recently returned home from multiple tours of duty overseas including three years in Iraq. It's been nearly a month since his reentry into civilian life and the domestic routines of family and household activity. The adjustment is proving to be far more difficult than Tom Crosby thought it would be. Since he's been home, a noticeable tension seems to hang quietly in the air. Everyone in the family has known for some time that his return would mean adjusting to a new reality, but since that new reality has arrived, the mood and emotional landscape of the Crosby residence has not been the same.

  Tom Crosby joined the Marines twelve years ago and for nine of those years, he was overseas. The extended absence of a husband and father has had the effect of forcing Heather Crosby and her children to find interests and activities they could do on their own, independent of a father's participation. For seventeen-year-old John, this means singing and playing the piano and for his younger sister Sara, it means dance lessons. Neither of his children identifies with their father's profession, and Tom Crosby can't understa
nd why. His rigid ideas and deeply held beliefs are seen as inflexible and even abrasive and his pro-military, ultra-conservative views don't seem to resonate with his children who accept more liberal viewpoints. This is especially true regarding the Iraq War. At seventeen, Tom Crosby's son, John, has become an ardent critic of the war and America's involvement in the debacle. This and other things have prevented Tom Crosby from making a smooth reintegration back into family and civilian life. He knows he's an odd fit in this new world, but in his mind he's already forged a possible solution to his problem. He's scheduled an appointment to be interviewed later today for a position as a security contractor and if he's accepted, an overseas assignment will follow. His wife Heather is unaware of the real purpose of the interview and has been told by her husband it's for a local civil service job. Heather Crosby and her children assume that Tom is now home for good and things will eventually work out for the best.

  As Mrs Crosby sits with her son in the kitchen, she brings up the touchy subject of having his father back in the house again.

  “So how are you and your dad getting along?”

  “We're doin’ okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don't know. I don't think he likes my music.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “Not in those words but, it's like the other day he asked me if I wanted to go to the gun range with him. When I said no, he said, ‘Oh you rather play pretty notes on the piano, huh?’ It was like some kinda put down. I mean why would he ask me to go to a gun range? I told him I hate guns. I guess he thinks I'm weak or something.”

  A knock on the door cuts into their conversation before John's mother can respond. It's Benjamin Keely, their elderly neighbor and friend of the family.

  “Hi John,” says Benjamin. “The reason I came over is because I forgot to pay you for doin’ my lawn last week, so I have a check for you.”

  “Oh that's okay. You didn't have to do that. I woulda caught up with you.”

  “No, no, you always do such a good job. I wanna make sure you get paid on time.”