Among the Fair Magnolias

by Tamera Alexander

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE MOOD ON THE PLANTATION WAS GRIM AS NEWS OF A massacre in South Georgia flashed over telegraph wires and was printed in newspapers across the nation. Even Father and Thomas had expressed complete outrage. Now every eye in the schoolroom was riveted on Emily as she read the article from the front page of the Wilkes County newspaper.

  She whispered the headline, “A Dozen Negroes Massacred in Camilla, Georgia,” and heard the ripple of fear throughout the schoolroom.

  Then she began to read. “ ‘Although our state of Georgia at last fulfilled the requirements of Congress’s Radical Reconstruction and was readmitted to the Union in July of this year, there was no peace. Earlier this month the Georgia state legislature expelled twenty-eight newly elected members because they were at least one-eighth black. Among those removed was southwest Georgia representative Philip Joiner. Yesterday, September 19, Joiner, along with northerners Francis F. Putney and William P. Pierce, led a twenty-five-mile march of several hundred blacks and a few whites from Albany to Camilla, the Mitchell County seat, to attend a Republican political rally.

  “ ‘Mitchell County whites, determined that no Republican rally would occur, stationed themselves in various storefronts and opened fire on the marchers as they entered the courthouse square in Camilla. A dozen marchers were killed and at least thirty others wounded. As the terrified survivors returned to Albany, hostile whites assaulted them for several miles. This is the worst case of racial violence reported in Reconstruction Georgia.’ ”

  Some of the students began weeping, others simply moaned and shook their heads. At last Leroy stood and raised his fist high. “They aim to scare us into not voting! We will not give in to fear!”

  Though his voice sounded strong and adamant, the amens in the schoolhouse were much less enthusiastic. Emily felt the fear in her stomach, set down the newspaper, buried her head in her hands, and cried.

  A few days later, as the children filed out to go to their homes at the end of their lessons, the freedmen gathered in the schoolroom again. They had requested a special teaching session that had nothing to do with reading and writing, and everything to do with self-defense. A special guest was their “instructor”—Colonel Willingham, a carpetbagger who had arrived in Georgia in 1866 and was a fervent supporter of the Negroes’ rights.

  Emily knew that Father would have forbidden her to stay for this “class,” had he known, but if Miss Lillian was staying, she would listen too. The two women sat quietly in the back.

  Colonel Willingham stood before the freedmen and asked, “How many of you served during the war?”

  Twenty-three of the forty men in the room raised their hands.

  “And how many of you know the proper way to use a gun?” The same hands rose again, plus a few more.

  “You know that there are only a very few cases of the Negroes standing up to the Klan? You realize the risk could be complete annihilation?”

  Emily felt weak at the word.

  “Beggin’ yur pardon, sir,” Leroy said, “but do you have a better idea than us defendin’ ourselves?”

  The colonel did not answer at first. Finally he met Leroy’s eyes and said, “What you’re doing is right, men. Lord, have mercy on us all.”

  Sam stood, clutching an old rifle. “Word bin leakin’ through the grapevine that the Negroes on the Philips’ plantation has stood up to the Klan.”

  Several men nodded their agreement.

  “Somebody done warned them of trouble,” Leroy informed the men. “If we’re ready with our weapons, and if the Good Lord sees fit to warn us ahead of time, I am sure we can hold off the Klan.”

  “Who warned them?” another freedman asked.

  “Word is that two of the freedmen heard about it from someone who sneaked into the Klan meeting.”

  Emily thought of the note that had come crashing through the schoolhouse window last April right before the KKK’s attack. Klan on the way. She remembered the childish block print. Yes, someone had known back then. Doubtless a freedman. But the warning had come too late.

  She shuddered to think of the risk taken by a freedman spying on the KKK. What if Leroy decided to do that too?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EMILY TRIED TO CONCENTRATE ON TEACHING THE CHILDREN as the perspiration trickled down her back. The men were out in the fields harvesting the cotton while the women and children fanned themselves in the schoolroom. But all Emily could think of were her father’s words: “Impending storm.”

  Her heart had sunk when he pronounced those words early that morning. If there was a downpour, the rest of the cotton crop could be ruined, as had happened in 1865.

  “The rain weakens the cotton fiber. Too much rain, and there is nothing you can do but watch all the hard work be lost.” Her father’s explanation from years ago wiggled its way into her thoughts.

  The sky outside was still sunny, but off to the left gray clouds hovered.

  With only the men working the fields, they would never harvest all the cotton in time. Emily couldn’t stand there a moment longer.

  “Children, today we’re going to do a different kind of learning,” she announced. “Today we’re going to learn how ‘many hands make light work,’ as a wise man named John Heywood said a long time ago. You see the storm clouds gathering? We need to get the cotton harvested before the storm. How many of you have harvested cotton before?”

  Every child over ten waved a hand in the air.

  “How many of you would be willing to help harvest cotton today?”

  The children broke into smiles and spoke almost in unison. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Emily. We’s good at it. We be helping you. Yes, ma’am, we is.”

  The sky was almost black with clouds, and the children’s hands were bleeding from picking cotton. Still they refused to leave the fields. Emily swiped her hand across her face and continued to pick. She could barely straighten her back, it was so sore from being perpetually bent over.

  “Come on now, Miss Emily. Time for you to get yurself back up to the Big House,” Sam said, his tall, skinny frame covered in dust and sweat. “You and Miss Lillian done a good thing for all of us today by letting the children and women help. But the storm’s coming in strong now.”

  “But, Sam, there’s so much left. We can’t leave it now. I’ll pick through the night if I have to.” She stood up and put her hand to her brow, squinting as she gazed at the field. “A little rain never hurt anyone, Sam,” she continued. “We have to keep going. Send the children home to eat. Anyone who wants to leave can do so. I’m staying. I’m picking this cotton for my father. I promise you I am.”

  “Yes, Miss Emily. I believe you.”

  She knew he didn’t. Sam knew as well as anyone that Emily was picking the cotton so the sharecroppers would have enough to survive another year of freedom.

  She couldn’t help but notice Sam’s smile.

  The sky was black when Emily saw the first bolt of lightning zigzag its way toward the field. The ensuing thunder made her jump. The white flashes lit up the field enough for her to see the other workers, men and women, still picking.

  “Get yurselves into the cabins!” The deep voice of Sam reverberated across the fields as the rain began to fall in little droplets. All day long they had picked and then hauled the bags of cotton to the storage shed. Now they hurried to get in the last bags before the rain soaked it.

  Emily had just picked up her bag and was headed to the shed when a bolt of lightning split open the sky and flashed down in a knifelike stab at her feet. She screamed with the scorching pain and fell to the ground.

  When she awoke, she was aware of Tammy leaning over her and a horrible stabbing pain in her head.

  “Praise Jesus, she done opened her eyes.” Tammy’s voice sounded far away.

  Now Sam spoke. “Miss Lillian’s gone on up to the Big House to git the mistress. She be here afore long.”

  Emily tried to speak, but she had no strength. She couldn’t even muster the ener
gy to open her mouth. And the pain in her head!

  She heard another voice now—Leroy’s. “I thought she was dead for sure. Saw that bolt a lightning come fer her like it was thrown down by the devil hisself. Found her lying right there by her bag and paler than the cotton.”

  “Lord, have mercy. What wud we ah tol’ her mamma ifn the lightning had kilt her?”

  But Emily wanted to know the rest. Leroy had seen it; Leroy had found her.

  “Picked her up right there, and dagburned lightning chased us all the way to the storage shed. Miracle we’s okay.”

  He had picked her up! Leroy had bent down and touched her white skin and lifted her into his arms. And she had not one memory of it. All she had was a searing headache and the sound of hail popping off the roof of the cabin.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU’RE NOT DEAD, EMILY!” ANNA WAS saying, leaning over her sister’s bed in the bedroom of the Big House. “Tammy kept telling me how you simply refused to leave the fields.”

  Emily tried to smile. Two days after the incident her head still ached fiercely. “I’m thankful to the Lord for sparing my life. It all happened so suddenly. Sam called out the warning, and then the sky lit up as if it were a fireworks celebration and then we were all running for the storage shed and lightning was chasing me.” She shut her eyes and shivered. “It was terrifying. Like trying to win over nature and realizing I have no power at all. None at all.”

  Anna fluffed her pillow and then passed another wet rag over Emily’s forehead. “I don’t suppose you feel like a visitor?”

  Emily closed her eyes and sighed. “He’s back?”

  “He never left.”

  “Poor dear Thomas. If you could bring me some hot tea, I think the pain will subside. Yes, of course I’ll see him.”

  “Don’t frown so, Thomas. I’m alive. And I will be well.”

  Thomas was seated by her bed, and now he grasped her hand. “I have been so worried, Emily. If anything happened to you . . .”

  Emily tried to focus on her friend, tried to push the pain away. “You see, nothing has happened at all. I’m quite fine. Better than that, Father says that almost none of the crop was lost. The hail only ruined a tiny percent. All the sharecroppers will have their due.” She tried to smile, tried not to wince, as the pain pierced her forehead. She didn’t want Thomas to continue in his line of thought. All she could think was that she had been in Leroy’s arms. Leroy had saved her.

  “I have had a discussion of sorts with your father, my Emily.”

  She frowned, irritated with the way he addressed her.

  “We have agreed on a dowry and a date for the wedding.” Now he let his hand tighten on her own. “We are thinking of—”

  Emily turned to face him. All strength to answer seemed to vanish. She mumbled, “Thomas! Thomas, how dare you make plans without even consulting me . . .”

  “I am consulting you now, my dear.” He fell to one knee. “I am asking you to make me the happiest man in the world by agreeing to become my wife.”

  Emily’s hand went to her brow, and she choked back a cry. He thought she loved him. He had never truly heard her protests, her insistence that she could not marry someone with such differing views on what she considered so important. And now she would have to wound him, perhaps more deeply than the memory of holding his dying brother in his arms in a battle somewhere in the North.

  Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. “Thomas, I . . . I can’t answer you tonight . . .”

  “Shh. I have taken you by surprise. Forgive me, dear. You are weak and tired. We will talk of this at another time, when you are stronger. Then we will have all the time in the world to talk and plan, alone . . .”

  Emily lay back in her bed in tears. Why did Thomas love her? Why did he think that a marriage between them could work? How could she explain it in a way he would understand? Perhaps a letter would be the best way to communicate.

  She would destroy her family if she refused to marry him. She knew it in her soul. Her mother could not stand another disappointment. The horror of death, the tragedy of Luke and Teddy, had stolen all the fight out of her. Now Emily saw bitterness and anger in her eyes, if they ever communicated anything other than deep, deep sorrow.

  “Emily, Mama thought you were dead,” Anna had confided. “When she first saw you at the cabin, so still and pale, she thought you were dead, like Teddy and Luke. She died a little bit more that day, I swear she did.”

  Now if she dared turn down Thomas’s offer, could her mother bear the strain? But she must explain it to Thomas clearly.

  “Anna,” she said. “Could you bring me a pen and paper?”

  “Are you sure you feel like writing?”

  Emily was sure she did not, but she felt she had no other choice.

  But when Anna returned with the fountain pen and paper, the throbbing in Emily’s head was so fierce that all she could manage was a moan of “Thank you” before she closed her eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

  The letter arrived the next afternoon as Anna spoon-fed Emily the thick potato soup that was Gladys’s specialty.

  “Delicious,” Emily whispered, but even opening her mouth to receive a spoonful of her favorite soup drained her feeble energy.

  “Do you want me to read it to you?” Anna offered.

  “No, no. I will read it later.” Emily’s eyes were closed, but she had opened them long enough to know that the envelope bore her name in Thomas’s handwriting.

  She finished the soup, and Anna left the room with a loving glance back at her sister. “Soon you’ll be back to your mischief-making ways,” Anna teased, but Emily read the worry in her eyes.

  “Thank you, dear little sister. I’m sure you’re right.”

  Would the pounding in her head never end?

  She reached for the letter, then hesitated. She leaned back on her pillow, closed her eyes, and thought of Miss Lillian. Give me your wisdom, Lord, as I read Thomas’s words.

  Seeing his fine cursive brought tears to her eyes. She did care for him. Then she slowly tore open the envelope, took a deep breath, and removed the single sheet of parchment.

  My darling Emily,

  What can I do to convince you that our marriage will work? I am not your enemy in this time of confusion in the South. I do not share the strong convictions you have, and yet I will not oppose your voicing your opinion. I am proud to know you as an intelligent, caring, and faithful woman.

  But I cannot force you to love me as I love you. I have tried to woo you, to show you my love and concern and respect. But I can read your eyes. I will not talk of marriage again. I will wait for you to address the subject with me. And if your decision is no, I will respect you for this even as I grieve it.

  You are right, Emily. I do not want a wife who does not love me.

  Yours,

  Thomas

  Emily set down the letter. How was it that she felt such relief and yet such grief at the same time?

  After she had spent two weeks in bed, Emily’s headaches finally subsided. Thomas kept his word. He visited her often but did not speak of marriage. Instead, he read her the latest news in the paper, news of the successful cotton crop, news of the upcoming presidential election between Republican General Ulysses S. Grant and Democrat Horatio Seymour, news of their families and friends.

  And then he would spend the remainder of his time trying to make her smile.

  “Today, Emily, I will introduce you to a fascinating new board game. It has been all the rage in the North for several years now.”

  Emily smiled. A board game! Her mother considered dice from the devil and looked down upon games in general.

  “I assure you this one is a ‘morality game,’ created by a fine young man by the name of Milton Bradley.” Thomas placed a board on the table and opened it up. “It’s called, most appropriately, ‘The Checkered Game of Life.’ ”

  Emily laughed at the pun, for indeed the board was checkered red
and white. In the red squares were words such as Fame, Ambition, and Wealth, as well as Gambling, Intemperance, and Prison.

  “The goal is to accumulate a hundred points by the time you reach the top right-cornered square marked Happy Old Age.”

  For over an hour Emily lost herself in the game, as she moved from a square marked Poverty to School to Industry and Bravery. Thomas laughed and laughed with each spin of the “teetotum”—a simple cardboard hexagon with sides numbered one through six. It had a wooden peg through the center, creating a spinning top. When Emily landed on Politics, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but Thomas said nothing at all. Instead he spun the teetotum again and moved forward three squares, landing on a square marked Matrimony. Their eyes met then, and Thomas’s were filled with love.

  That night, as she lay in bed, Emily realized that for a brief time she had forgotten about Leroy. In her dreams Thomas was riding Trooper while she followed happily behind on Brandy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  FATHER WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND HER NEED TO BE AT THE festivities, but she would face his anger tomorrow. Tonight was a time of celebration at the Eagers’ cabin. A miracle. It was simply a miracle. Timothy, their eldest son, sold into slavery as a boy of ten and separated from the family for twenty years, had returned.

  Emily had always known of the deep heartache that Tammy bore. As a young girl, Emily had listened to the story.

  “Our Timothy done be sold on the auction block before we’s come to work for yur father. Praise God yur father done bought the rest of us when the old master got rid of us. But before he come along, the old master done sold Timothy, our oldest boy. Done it just to break my heart when I got too sick to pick cotton one fall. But I knowed our good Lawd be lookin’ afta my boy. I pray for him every night and day. Sometime, sometime, our boy goin’ ta come back to us. I knowed it. I do.”

  Indeed she had been right.