Walking Into The Unknown

by Ginny Dye

  Stunned silence followed her words.

  Rose understood. She had never known a thirteen-year-old with Felicia’s maturity, but that was all the more reason the young girl on the threshold of womanhood needed these women around the table.

  “The second phase of the Cocooning Rite has begun,” Rose said gravely. “Felicia will wait for all of you to approach her when the time is right.”

  *****

  “Do you know what they are doing?” Matthew asked as he glanced at the closed door to the dining room.

  Moses shrugged. “Being women,” he answered lamely. “Rose wouldn’t tell me anything about it. She said it was a rite of passage for Felicia, and that Felicia had asked for all the women here to be a part of it.”

  “Only women?” Harold asked with a raised brow.

  “I asked more questions, but she told me I wasn’t allowed to know because I am a man.” He looked over at Thomas, who had settled with the newspaper into his favorite armchair in front of the fire. “You don’t seem to care.”

  “When you’re as old as me, you won’t care either,” Thomas said, flattening the paper so he could read it better. “Women are a mystery to me most of the time, but I know I can’t live without them. If they have some kind of ritual thing going, I’m all for it. I’m probably not intelligent enough to be part of it, so I would rather be left out. It’s less embarrassing that way.” He grinned and then pointed to an article in the paper, changing the subject. “I understand things are rough for the blacks at the Virginia Constitutional Convention in Richmond, Jeremy. Is that true? I’ve been so busy with the factory lately that I haven’t been able to keep up.”

  “It’s true,” Jeremy said, his eyes flaring beneath his blond hair. “The black delegates are being laughed at and humiliated in the papers, mostly because of their speech, but they are not letting that stop them from fighting for the rights of those that elected them.”

  “I understand a lot of the whites refused to take part in the convention elections back in October,” Harold said.

  Jeremy nodded. “It seems to be happening all through the South. Blacks had the chance to vote here in Virginia for the first time in October. Since many whites refused to take part in it as a way of protest, the whites who were elected are Radical Republicans, and there were twenty-four black delegates elected. Some of them were free before the war, but many of them were slaves. What they lack in education, they more than make up for with passion and political savviness. They know what they are fighting for, and I predict they will fight hard.”

  Thomas held up the paper he was reading. “The results show that voter registration was about equal for blacks and whites, but that ninety-two percent of blacks voted, while only sixty-two percent of whites voted.”

  “Blacks aren’t going to sit around and wait for somebody to rescue them,” Moses said in a tight voice. “This shows what people will do when they feel an ownership of the political process. The newspapers can laugh at how they speak, but they are doing the right thing to have power to change this country.”

  “There are whites determined to fight back, though,” Jeremy said. “There was a large group of white men who met in Richmond on December eleventh and twelfth. They formed a new political party.”

  Thomas raised a brow. “A new political party? And I wasn’t invited?”

  Jeremy snorted with laughter. “Sorry, brother, but I think your record shows you would not be sympathetic to their platform.”

  “Which is?” Thomas asked, all pretense at humor gone.

  “They call it the Conservative Party,” Jeremy explained. “They are springing up around the South. It’s a union of the Democratic and Whig parties that existed before the war. Basically, they oppose everything the Radical Republicans stand for. They oppose black suffrage, black office-holding, and equality in general. They are recruiting members that agree with them.”

  Matthew eyed him. “And how did you discover this so quickly?”

  Jeremy grinned. “I remembered the story you told me about you and Robert sneaking into a secret meeting at the convention down in Charleston before the war. I heard the rumor something was happening, so Marcus and I found a window open in the building where they met. We were already there, hiding in the balcony, when they arrived. They never suspected a thing.”

  Matthew and Harold hooted with laughter.

  “There is always a way to get information if you really want it,” Harold agreed.

  Thomas smiled. “Has your brother told you about going to the Ku Klux Klan Convention in Nashville this spring in disguise?”

  Harold’s eyes widened as he regarded his brother. “You did?”

  Matthew nodded. “It seemed important at the time.” He knew his voice was bitter.

  Harold cocked his head. “At the time?”

  “We didn’t discover anything that was helpful enough to derail their agenda. The power of the Klan is growing, and no one seems to realize it. At least not anyone who is willing to do what it takes to stop it,” he said angrily. “Just a few weeks after the convention in Nashville, they decided who they wanted as their Grand Wizard.” He hesitated, knowing how Moses would respond when he heard the news. Matthew had not been back on the plantation since his discovery of the Grand Wizard’s identity, and he had avoided telling Moses.

  Moses caught his hesitation and narrowed his eyes. “Who is it, Matthew?”

  “Nathan Bedford Forrest,” Matthew revealed reluctantly.

  Moses tensed with fury.

  Thomas frowned. “I know he was a Confederate general, but I’m not familiar with his record.”

  “He was far more than that,” Moses snapped. “Did you never hear about the Fort Pillow Massacre?”

  Thomas watched him carefully. “Evidently, I didn’t.” He turned to Matthew. “Would one of you enlighten me, though I have a feeling I would rather not know.”

  “Everyone should know,” Moses growled. “There is a monster in charge of the KKK now.” His eyes were fiery with anger and something very close to desperation.

  Matthew ached for him but at some point he would have to learn the truth about just how bad it was going to get in the South. “The Battle of Fort Pillow was fought in April, 1864. The fort was on the Mississippi River. A few weeks earlier, Forrest had launched a month-long cavalry raid into Tennessee and Kentucky. He sent about two thousand men to attack Fort Pillow once he discovered there were only five hundred soldiers holding it. He needed the horses and supplies there, and thought it would be an easy target.” He took a deep breath. “About half the men were black. They were some of the first black soldiers in the war. They fought courageously, but they were badly outnumbered. When they realized they could not hope to win, they surrendered.”

  “They tried to surrender,” Moses interrupted. “And they were all massacred,” he said bitterly. “Forrest was there. His soldiers went in and murdered them in cold blood. Out of four hundred black soldiers, along with their officers, only twenty survived. Twenty!” He turned agonized eyes to Matthew. “And this is the man who is now in charge of the Klan?”

  Matthew gazed at him steadily, wishing it were not true. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell me all of it,” Moses demanded.

  Matthew was glad all the women were still in the dining room. They would know everything before long, but if he could hold it from them until after Christmas he would…though he doubted Rose wouldn’t demand to know the truth once she saw her husband’s face. “He was the perfect pick,” he said honestly. “The Klan no doubt appreciates his reputation. He was a wealthy man when the war started, and he had nothing when it ended. So he relates to the anger fueling the vigilantes. He has also started a new career as an insurance representative and railroad promoter. He is in the perfect position to recruit members and grow the Klan throughout the South.”

  “Dear God,” Thomas muttered.

  Matthew pushed on. “The Klan is becoming more visible, and they are becoming much bolder. Cont
inued instability and fear in our country is playing into the hands of those who want to make the Klan bigger and more powerful. Things got worse after the vote in August. The Klan hoped that the push by the Conservatives—” He paused when he caught Thomas’ look. “Yes, the same party that just formed here in Richmond. Anyway, the Conservatives told the black voters that their former masters were still their best friends and had their genuine interests at heart. They encouraged them to vote the Conservative ticket.”

  Moses snorted his disdain.

  Matthew nodded. “The black voters there felt the same way. The Republicans had a resounding victory at the polls, and the Conservatives immediately attributed blame to the Union League.”

  Harold interrupted. “The Union League came down here to register blacks to vote and teach them how the ballot box worked.”

  “And to tell them to vote Republican,” Jeremy added. “But all the blacks I know were already going to do that.”

  “That’s all true,” Matthew responded. “The Conservatives refuse to accept reality. They have a ridiculous belief that blacks voted Republican simply because they were told to. The Conservatives believe that if there was no influence from the North, then the blacks would all go back to being the ‘good slaves’ they were before the war and follow the dictates of their former masters.” His voice showed his disgust. “They are idiots.”

  “Dangerous idiots,” Thomas said soberly.

  “Yes,” Matthew agreed. “Anyway, the Klan sprang into action after the Tennessee vote four months ago. They paraded and recruited boldly. Their numbers grew impressively.”

  “Go on,” Moses prodded. “I want to know it all.”

  “A couple months ago they started a series of organized raids on blacks and on the white teachers of black schools. There has been an alarming increase in murders, assaults, rapes and arsons aimed at blacks. It is all attributed to the KKK.” He looked Moses squarely in the eyes. “The KKK is becoming an army. Their numbers are growing all over the South. Their agenda is a reign of terror that will keep blacks from the polls so they can regain control of the life they once knew.”

  “And nothing is being done?” Jeremy demanded. “What good is martial law if the military is allowing this to happen?”

  “I ask myself the same question every day,” Matthew replied. “The army seems to be doing a good job in the larger cities, but it is just not possible to control what is happening in the rural South. There are not enough soldiers to protect an area that large.”

  “So it just continues?” Moses asked. “Everyone turns a blind eye while black people are murdered and tortured?” He stood and stalked over to the window. “What is the use of freedom if we are never free? If we continue to be killed?” His voice was full of agony and pain.

  Thomas moved over next to him. Matthew, Harold and Jeremy joined him.

  “You are not alone,” Thomas promised. “There is not a white man in this room who will not fight for your right to freedom. You going to school to become a lawyer is more important now than ever.”

  “If I live through it!” Moses exclaimed. “What will happen to my family?”

  “It’s good that you are going to Oberlin,” Thomas repled. “There is probably nowhere in the South that is truly safe right now, but you have picked a college in a town known for civil rights and equality for everyone. You will be safe there.”

  “Safe.” Moses almost spat the word. “While my people are being murdered, I will be safe.”

  “Long enough to become what your people need,” Thomas said firmly. “You already knew this was going to be a long fight.”

  Matthew watched, knowing Thomas was trying to lift Moses from his despair. “Change is coming, Moses,” he added, “but it’s going to take a long time. People are going to die,” he said. “One war has ended, but another has begun. You fought the last war with everything you had. You have the opportunity to do the same thing now.”

  Moses finally turned from the window and gazed at his friends. “There are times when I would give anything in the world to be white,” he admitted, “but I’m not. I’m a black man.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m a black man who is going to go to his grave fighting for what I believe is right.”

  Matthew, his thoughts full of Robert, hoped with all his heart that Moses was not being prophetic.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Abby was waiting in the parlor with a cup of hot tea when Felicia slipped through on her way to the library. “Good morning, Felicia.”

  Felicia jolted to a stop. “Miss Abby! You scared me. What are you doing up so early?” She looked around with frightened eyes. “Is something wrong?”

  Abby smiled. “You’re not the only one who can get up before the sun, my dear. Rose told me you are usually in the library reading before anyone else is up. I decided to find out if she was right.”

  “Why? Have I done something wrong?”

  “Of course not,” Abby answered, “but I do believe we are to spend time together before New Year’s Day.”

  Felicia relaxed. “That’s right! I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up at five thirty in the morning.”

  “It’s not my preferred rising time,” Abby admitted, “but I wanted to be sure we had a quiet time to talk.”

  “I’m real glad,” Felicia said earnestly. She curled into the other soft chair in front of the fire, and pulled a gaily-colored quilt over her. “May I ask you a question, Miss Abby?”

  “Anything.”

  “You’re a very successful businesswoman, and you also fought for many years for abolition. What is the most important thing you can tell me about being like you?”

  Abby laughed softly. “I’ve been trying to answer that question for myself ever since Rose told us to be thinking about it. I could probably talk for days, but trying to narrow everything down to just one thing is rather daunting.”

  “You know I have to talk to everyone,” Felicia reminded her hesitantly.

  Abby chuckled. “I know, dear. Don’t worry, I’m not going to talk to you for days.” She bit back another laugh at the obvious relief on Felicia’s face. “I’ve thought about what you are facing as you become a woman. You have the freedom so many people worked so hard to achieve for you. It is a great privilege, but it is also a great responsibility.”

  Felicia stared back, listening intently.

  “As I thought about what I wanted to tell you, I realized the most important thing is to never take anything for granted. When my husband died and I took over the business, I worked hard and faced many dangers.”

  “Dangers?”

  Abby nodded. “Dangers. There were many people threatened by what I chose to do because it was out of the norm for women. I was intimidated, accosted by men who had been sent to frighten me, and I faced obstacles of all kinds as I fought to get business in a man’s world.”

  “Men,” Felicia murmured. “They do seem to make things hard on women.”

  Abby smiled. “Yes, most of them were men, but there were women, too.”

  “Women?” Felicia’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “Why would women want to make it hard for you?”

  “Because I threatened them, as well. I was choosing a route they didn’t wish to take, or didn’t believe they could. They thought I was stepping out of the proper role for women and should be brought back in line. They chose angry words and sneers to let me know just how they felt.”

  “That was dumb.”

  “It didn’t work,” Abby agreed, “but there were so many times I got tired of fighting.” She paused. “There are still times I get tired of fighting.”

  Felicia’s eyes narrowed. “You are one of the most successful businesswomen in Richmond and Philadelphia—probably on the whole east coast. Why are you still fighting?”

  “I will always fight,” Abby said. “That’s what I meant about not taking things for granted. It’s easy to believe that once you have accomplished something you can sit back and rest on your laurels.
That’s not true. If you do, you will see your accomplishments slip away.” She thought for a minute. “Have you ever played with a hoop before?”

  “Rolled a hoop? Of course! My daddy and I used to do it in Memphis.”

  “Have you ever rolled a hoop up a hill?”

  Felicia nodded. “There was a big hill not too far from where I lived.”

  “What happened if you started up the hill with the hoop and then quit pushing it?”

  Felicia looked at her with something akin to pity. “You can’t quit pushing the hoop when you’re going uphill, Miss Abby.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Because if you do,” Felicia said patiently, “it will start to roll back downhill.”

  Abby let Felicia’s response hang in the air, recognizing the moment the girl understood her point.

  “That’s what you mean by not taking things for granted,” she exclaimed. “You can’t ever stop fighting for what you want.” She stared into the fire, deep in thought. “Is that true for everyone or just for women?”

  “The principle is true for everyone,” Abby responded, “but it is truer for women because there are so many people that want to see us fail.”

  “That’s not right!” Felicia cried.

  “Right or not, that is the way it is,” Abby said. “It’s hard for me as a woman, and it’s going to be harder for you as a black woman. There are many times you are going to be very tired. You’re going to want to quit fighting and take a seat, but you can’t…”

  “…Because I will go downhill and lose what I worked so hard for.”

  Silence reigned in the room for several minutes as Felicia absorbed what she had heard. “What keeps you fighting, Miss Abby? When you’re real tired and want to stop, what keeps you going?”