by Ginny Dye
When May called them in for dinner, she grabbed Harold’s arm to hold him back. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“For?”
“For knowing Willard and Grace would be welcome here,” she murmured. “Even though Carrie and the rest don’t live here, their absence seems to have left a hole in my heart. I’ve been feeling lonely. Willard and Grace are a lovely couple. I will enjoy getting to know them better.”
Harold smiled broadly. “I’m glad I was correct about how you would react. Matthew has told me so much about you and Thomas, but it’s what I’ve experienced myself that convinced me it would be all right.”
*****
Marietta had watched Willard and Grace all through the delicious meal. She was convinced Harold had not told them the truth about her and Jeremy. Neither of them would have been able to hold in their curiosity if they were aware. Now that she knew the story was hers and Jeremy’s to tell, she was eager to do so. “It must have been quite a hard decision to move to Virginia,” she remarked, holding Grace’s eyes. She had watched the lovely young woman relax over dinner as everyone laughed and talked.
Grace shrugged. “When you are choosing between starvation and prejudice, the choice isn’t really that hard. Willard had been looking for work for months.”
Marietta laughed. “When you put it that way, I suppose you’re right.”
“Jobs are hard to come by,” Jeremy agreed. “I imagine that if employers found out you were a mixed-race couple, they were not eager to hire you.”
Marietta watched the confusion appear in their guest’s eyes.
It was Willard who responded. “Are you telling us if you had known we were mixed-race, that we wouldn’t have been hired at Cromwell Factory?” His words were polite, but his voice was clipped.
“Certainly not,” Jeremy answered. “It would only have made us more eager to hire you.”
Willard raised a brow, clearly skeptical. “Why?”
Marietta was proud of where she knew Jeremy was taking the conversation.
“Because I am mulatto,” Jeremy said matter-of-factly.
Quiet fell on the table while Willard and Grace gaped at him. Neither seemed to be able to utter a word.
Marietta smiled gently. “It’s true,” she assured them. “Jeremy’s father is Thomas’ father, but they don’t share the same mother. Their father had sex with one of their slaves.”
“You might as well admit he raped her,” Thomas said grimly. “Sarah had no choice in the matter.”
“But you’re white,” Grace argued.
“I look white,” Jeremy agreed, “but all the laws in the South say I am as black as you are. My twin sister is darker than you.”
Grace gaped at him again. “Your twin sister?”
“Her name is Rose,” Marietta answered. “She is a teacher, and is in school at Oberlin College now. Her husband is studying at Oberlin to become a lawyer.”
Grace slumped back against her seat, keeping her eyes fixed on Marietta. “You could have a black baby,” she murmured.
“I could,” Marietta agreed. She never enjoyed talking about the possibility, but she knew it would help Grace to not feel alone, and she wasn’t surprised at Grace’s response.
Willard was still watching Jeremy. “Do you have much trouble around here?”
“Enough,” Jeremy admitted, “but most people haven’t figured it out yet. I don’t have a problem being half-black, but I find I’ve been able to be most effective in helping my black friends as a white man. I’m aware, though, that it will become known in time.”
“And if you have a black baby?” Grace asked.
Marietta took a deep breath and then opted for honesty because she knew Grace must constantly think about it. “I don’t know. It’s one thing for Jeremy and me to take the risk. We are adults. It’s quite another to ask a defenseless child to deal with the consequences of our decision.” She shifted uncomfortably and looked toward Jeremy. He smiled and nodded. “I’ll let you know the answer to that in about six months,” Marietta added.
“Six months?” Abby breathed. “You’re pregnant? You’re going to have a baby?”
“That’s what the doctor tells me,” Marietta said happily, her face wreathed in smiles. “I just found out today.”
Abby blinked and then turned on Thomas. “You knew? You’ve been home for an hour, and you didn’t tell me?”
Thomas held up his hands. “They made me promise they could share the news.”
Marietta laughed. “We threatened him with bodily harm if he told anyone. I was so excited to tell Jeremy. When Thomas was with him to pick me up from school, I just couldn’t wait.”
Abby jumped up and hugged both of them. “That is wonderful news! Congratulations!”
May was standing in the door of the kitchen. “Well, if that ain’t some grand news.” She turned to Micah. “You go get me a bunch of them fresh strawberries out of the garden. I’m going to make us some strawberry biscuit shortcakes to celebrate.” She blinked her eyes furiously. “It’s about time this house had a baby in it.”
Marietta laughed. “I couldn’t agree more. And, I would love to have some strawberry shortcake, but only if you and Micah join us to eat it. We keep telling you that you’re family. Are you ever going to act like it?”
“I do act like it,” May retorted. “I tell all of you what to do to every day, but the kitchen is my place. I’ll join you tonight, though,” she relented. “This is cause for celebration.”
Marietta laughed again, but she had to work to push down the twinge of anxiety. She and Jeremy really didn’t know what they would do if their baby were to be born black, or even obviously mixed-race. She couldn’t imagine raising her child in the South if it was not white, but she also couldn’t imagine leaving the life they had created here. Would racism always dictate their decisions?
Six months…
She would have her answer then.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thomas looked around with a sense of deep satisfaction as he settled in next to the fireplace. Spring had taken a firm grip on the South, but a cold front that had swept through earlier that day had dropped the temperatures enough to make the crackling flames in the fireplace a welcome addition. Abby had talked Willard and Grace into spending the night with them, so the parlor was full. He settled back with his cup of hot tea, anticipating what the rest of the evening would bring.
Abby was the first to break the contented silence. “I’m almost afraid to bring up the issue of politics, but I find that with a journalist in the house I am quite incapable of leaving it alone. Harold, what can you tell us about the latest happenings in Washington that we might not yet be aware of?”
Harold took a sip of his tea and looked thoughtful. “Are you familiar with the Fourth Reconstruction Act?”
Abby shook her head, but before Harold could respond, Willard cleared his throat. “I find I am comfortable enough with all of you now to declare my complete ignorance. I’ve done nothing but work and look for jobs ever since I got out of Rock Island Prison. I’m aware that blacks have gained the right to vote, but I know little more than that.”
“Black men,” Grace said disdainfully.
Abby smiled. “You have my full agreement, Grace. It is quite wrong that women don’t yet have the vote.” She reached out and squeezed her hand. “We’ll talk more about that later, but why don’t we first enlighten you and Willard on what is happening in our country with Reconstruction.”
Grace inclined her head graciously.
Harold looked at Thomas. “Would you like to give our guests a brief history lesson?”
“Of course,” Thomas responded. “Even though the war ended, many Americans were starkly aware that the country was not being adequately reconstructed. Slavery had ended, but freedom had not been adequately defined for black Americans. Many also realized that Reconstruction under President Johnson created neither healing nor justice.” He thought about the riots that had led to that v
ivid realization, but decided to keep his explanation simple. “There were things that happened in that first year after the war that resulted in a majority of Republicans being elected to Congress. They had the power to make things change, so they pushed for the passage of the Reconstruction Acts. Our president vetoed all of them, but he was overruled in Congress every time.”
“That must have made him very angry,” Grace said.
“He made decisions that put himself in that position,” Thomas stated. “He seemed to have forgotten that his job was to serve America, not himself. When he realized he couldn’t veto the Reconstruction Acts, he sought to lessen their effect through the Attorney General. Congress responded with the Third Reconstruction Act. Supreme power has been given to the five Union generals overseeing the Southern military districts. They have been given the power to remove any official, elected or otherwise, from office if they believe the person is impeding the process of Reconstruction.”
Willard frowned. “So once again the North is imposing their will on the South.”
Thomas eyed him. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not anymore,” Willard replied quickly, “but none of this is going to change how too much of the South views blacks. It seems like it will most likely only make them angrier.” He shook his head. “I don’t think there is an easy answer to any of this, but President Johnson seems to have made it worse.”
“He did a lot of damage before Congress was able to fight back,” Thomas agreed, “but progress is being made. The first thing the Reconstruction Acts did was divide the South into five districts governed by military governors, until acceptable state constitutions could be written and approved by Congress.” He paused for a moment to catch his breath. “All males, regardless of race, except for former Confederate leaders, are now permitted to vote for the delegates and participate in the constitutional conventions that are forming our new state governments.”
“The Virginia convention is going on right now,” Jeremy added, “though our delegates will not be allowed to return to Congress because they refused to ratify the Fourteenth Amendment in January of this year.”
“Why didn’t they?” Willard asked.
“Because they don’t believe blacks should have any rights, and certainly not the right to vote,” Grace said.
Thomas nodded. “I’m sorry to say she is right. So far, the Fourteenth Amendment has gone before Texas, Georgia, North Carolina and South Carolina. All of them have failed to ratify it.”
Willard leaned forward. “Doesn’t that mean all those states can’t be readmitted to the Union?”
“That’s right,” Thomas agreed. “They will remain under military governance until they do.”
“That seems rather short-sighted,” Willard observed. “They have lost all voice in the government.”
“It was the same pig-headedness that produced the Civil War,” Harold said ruefully.
Thomas nodded heavily. “I wish I could dispute that fact, but I can’t. I discover every day that men’s inability to accept equality of all people creates situations I would give almost anything to alter. Even after losing almost twenty percent of all Southern men to the war, there are too many still unwilling to accept that our country has been forever changed. Slavery has been abolished, and it is necessary to accept equal rights for all.”
“Including women,” Marietta said firmly.
“Yes, including women,” Thomas agreed in just as firm a voice.
Abby looked back at Harold. “You said there is now a Fourth Reconstruction Act?”
Harold nodded. “Yes. The main reason it has been so hard to get the Fourteenth Amendment passed in the South is because, as the law stands now, it takes a majority of registered voters to ratify the amendment and the constitutions. White registered voters have boycotted elections to keep that from happening.” He shrugged. “They are only delaying the inevitable. The Fourth Reconstruction Act changed the law to say only a majority of actual voters are necessary. It won’t matter if elections are boycotted, except the boycotters will cease to have a voice.”
Thomas nodded but remained silent.
“Are you all right, dear?” Abby asked perceptively.
“Yes, but Willard is right that none of this will change how the South views the former slaves. I have to wonder how long this can last. Will Reconstruction truly change things, or will it simply delay new tactics by bigoted whites to enforce their will and beliefs?”
A deep silence fell on the room as all of them tried to look forward into a murky future.
*****
Amber took deep breaths of the early spring air. She was sure she would never get tired of waking before the sun to experience the magic of early mornings. Now that school had started again, she had to make the most of them. She didn’t mind school, but she certainly minded spending less hours with the horses.
Susan met her at the door to the barn, a finger held to her lips.
Amber instantly knew why. “Who?” she whispered.
“Sandy Lady and Emerald,” Susan whispered back. “I caught them going into labor so I brought them into the stalls in order to keep an eye on them. Horses have been giving birth on their own for a long time, but I feel better if I can check for trouble.”
Amber ran quietly to peer over the closest stall door. Sandy Lady, a light chestnut mare, stared back at her, obviously distressed. “It’s all right, girl,” Amber murmured soothingly, hoping she was right. This would be Sandy Lady’s first foal, and the mare was already a little high-strung. They had expected her foal to be born at least two weeks ago, but the mare seemed to have resisted the normal process. It was not uncommon for first-time mothers. “You just go ahead and do things your way,” Amber said softly. A quick look confirmed the stall was lined with a thick layer of straw.
“She’s doing well,” Susan said from behind her. “I don’t think it will be long.”
Amber’s practiced eye determined the same thing. At only eleven, she had seen dozens of births in the last two years. Robert had taught her that it was best not to interfere, but instead let nature take its course. Sandy Lady would probably deliver her foal, clean it and begin bonding without anyone’s help.
Amber stepped back and ran over to stare into Emerald’s stall. As she looked in, Emerald, a striking coal black mare, dipped her head in acknowledgement and lowered herself to the straw mattress waiting for her. Susan had already wrapped her tail to keep the long strands of hair out of the way.
Amber waved Susan over. “It’s time,” she whispered when Susan stepped up beside her.
Susan nodded, a broad smile on her face. “I’m eager to see Emerald’s foal,” she whispered. “I am certain she will be magnificent.”
Amber knew she was right. Robert had bought Emerald just weeks before he had been killed, certain she would produce wonderful offspring. Amber caught her breath, wishing with all her heart that Robert was there to witness the birth. She brushed impatiently at the tears filling her eyes. Her mama had told her it was all right to still cry about Robert, but she didn’t want to miss the birth. Susan put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Amber allowed herself to lean into her strength, but didn’t take her eyes off Emerald.
“Her water broke,” Susan whispered.
Amber shivered, wishing the sun would rise a little more. She could see inside the stall, but just barely. “Look! The sac is coming out. Ohhhhh…it just broke open.”
“The fluid lubricates the birth canal and the foal,” Susan said quietly.
Emerald lifted her head one more time and then lay flat before she began to push. Amber flinched when the sweating mare began to moan, but her mama had explained it was a tough thing to push seventy to ninety pounds of foal through the birth canal. There was plenty of reason to moan.
“Here it comes!” Susan whispered excitedly.
Amber strained her eyes and finally saw the white sac emerge. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the foal’s front hooves, on
e slightly ahead of the other. It was not going to be a breech birth. Moments later she saw the nose and head appear. Amber held her breath as the foal slid further out and then stopped.
“It’s okay,” Susan whispered. “The most difficult part of the delivery is the head and shoulders. Emerald is resting. If she doesn’t start pushing again in a few minutes, I’ll help her.”
Amber glanced at her in admiration. “You know how to do that?” She had seen Robert help a few of the mares, but she hadn’t been certain Susan could do the same.
“I’ve done it many times,” Susan promised, “but I don’t think Emerald will need my help.”
As if to prove her right, the large mare gave another groan and a very hard push.
Amber laughed softly as the rest of the foal slid from the birth canal, landing quietly on the straw bedding as the sac broke free from its head. “Hello, little one,” she whispered.
“Emerald and the foal will rest for a few minutes,” Susan said. “I’ll go check on Sandy Lady. I’ll wave you over when she is ready.”
Amber nodded, content to remain exactly where she was. She could feel the wonder of a new life force filling the stall, and she understood the look of loving awe in Emerald’s eyes when she looked at her baby before lying back to rest and gather her strength for what would follow. Amber knew the rest period was critical because the umbilical cord was still attached, and still transferring a large, vital amount of blood from Emerald to her baby.
Amber pulled out the pocket watch Robert had given her for this very purpose. It was almost fifteen minutes before Emerald stirred, nosed her foal, and then stood. “Good girl,” Amber called quietly. Emerald glanced up briefly as she began to lick her foal, cleaning away the rest of the sac. Amber knew it could take anywhere from one to six hours for the foal to stand and begin nursing.
“Amber!” Susan called.
Amber tensed, alerted by something in Susan’s voice. She dashed over to the stall door just as Susan opened it and slipped in. “I’m here.”
