by Ginny Dye
A sudden movement down a side street made him jerk to attention. Holding a finger to his lips in warning, he pulled Marietta back into the shadow of a large tree. She remained silent, peering in the direction he pointed. They stood motionless as a group of ten white men emerged from the darkness. Rifles and pistols reflected the street lanterns. The grim expressions on the men’s faces as they turned and moved in the direction of the black quarters were all Jeremy and Marietta needed to see.
“Quickly,” Marietta whispered. “We can take this side alley to my boarding house.”
Jeremy nodded, breaking into a run as they moved further into the darkness. Neither said another word until they were standing in front of Marietta’s residence, their sides heaving from their dash through the night.
Marietta placed a finger to his lips. “Go!” she said urgently. “Warn who you can. You’ll beat them there because you know the area better.” Her voice tightened with love. “Be safe…”
Jeremy turned and ran.
Marietta watched until he disappeared around a corner, her heart pounding with fear. She had meant every word she had uttered earlier. Both of them had made choices that put them in grave danger. She had no regrets, but that certainly didn’t mean she wouldn’t feel fear. She waited a long moment and then reluctantly entered her building, praying Jeremy would find one of the patrol members quickly. It was going to be a long night.
Marietta climbed the stairs to her second-floor room. She smiled at Mrs. Pettus, her boarding house keeper, when the old lady cracked open her door and peered out at her. In spite of Marietta’s admonitions not to do it, Mrs. Pettus never went to bed until she was safely at home. Marietta hated the worry she caused, but she also relished the knowledge someone was looking out for her.
She entered her room but didn’t bother to turn on the light. Neither did she undress to get ready for bed. Thankful her room was not sweltering with heat, she quietly pulled a chair over to the window and settled down to wait.
Jeremy knew her well enough to know she would be sitting beside her window until he returned. When he walked home and waved at her, she would allow herself to go to bed. Until then, she would watch and pray.
Eddie sucked in his breath as a light tap sounded at the door. The warning system in the black quarters was simple but effective. He stood, strode across the room, and quickly extinguished the candle on the table. Amber Lou and Carl, both hunched over their homework on the floor, blew out the candle in front of them and stood to move into the back room to warn Cindy and George. Eddie was sure his two children were frightened, but the four cousins knew what to do. If things got bad, they would all slip out the ground floor window and run for help and protection.
Opal appeared at his side, taking his hand in a firm grip. “Does the door have the latch on?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Eddie replied, though he knew the door could easily be bashed in.
Jewel materialized from the darkness. She had been upstairs sewing. “All the candles are out,” she reported, her voice trembling with fear.
Eddie clenched his teeth when he heard the terror in his sister-in-law’s voice. He was sick of the pervasive fear in the quarter, but grateful for the system in place. He wondered who had warned him this time.
“Where is Clark?” Jewel whispered. “He be at a meetin’?”
Eddie reached for her hand. “He is on patrol.” He understood when Jewel sucked in her breath. Being on patrol meant her husband was in more danger because whatever was coming was more likely to find him. “My brother is gonna be fine,” he said reassuringly. “He knows this area better than anyone.” Jewel clutched his hand but remained silent.
Eddie moved closer to the window. If trouble was coming, he wanted to see it before it reached them. Experience had taught the quarter residents that dark homes were less likely to be attacked. All the men out on patrol, as soon as they suspected trouble, raced from one house to the next, tapping lightly to sound the alarm. He looked up and down the street, relieved when he didn’t see the flicker of even one candle or oil lamp. Opal and Jewel pressed in even closer to him. They all waited quietly.
Eddie felt the trouble coming minutes before he saw it. The dark forms of the vigilante group emerged from the black night. There were no streetlights in the quarters. Usually that worked against them, but tonight it made it almost impossible for the vigilantes to see more than a few feet in front of them. There was no moon, and every shanty and building on the road was shrouded in darkness.
“What happened to all the niggers?” he heard one man growl.
“They must have been warned,” he heard another one mutter, his voice tight with nervousness.
Eddie smiled grimly. These men had no idea just how nervous they should be. He knew there were men on patrol watching from the cracks between the houses. Right now they were powerless, but that would change soon. He had been at the earlier meeting that finalized the creation of the Black Militia. He wouldn’t be part of it because he had not served in the Union Army, but he was going to handle the administration. His years in prison had toughened him, but they hadn’t given him firearm skills. He knew, though, that the part he would play in it was equally important.
“Do you suppose they’re watching us?” the man with the nervous voice asked.
“Hush!” another man whispered. “We don’t want to give away our position.”
Eddie bit back a laugh. There were hundreds of eyes trained on the men right at that moment. The residents had been warned to stay inside no matter what, but they needed no urging. Every black person in the city was aware of the beatings that were happening on an almost daily basis.
Eddie relaxed a little as the men walked slowly up the street. They seemed completely confused by the total darkness. Opal leaned into him, but he squeezed her hand to remind her to stay silent. He was taking no chances. He could imagine the children huddled in the corner of their room, trembling with fear. His anger flared as he once again questioned his and Opal’s decision to leave Philadelphia to return to Richmond. They had both wanted to get away from the crowded, lonely city after their restaurant had burned—taking Susie, Zeke, and the two Sadies with it—but the constant fear pervading the air in the old capital of the Confederacy was wearing on all of them.
Time ticked away as the three of them remained at their window post. They knew the men could turn around and retrace their steps at any moment. Now was not the time to let their guard down, though Eddie knew there was little they would be able to do against ten men with whips and guns. His teeth clenched as the night crept forward.
It seemed like an eternity before Eddie saw another dark form slip through the night, stopping at every dwelling. He breathed a sigh of relief when a light tap told him the vigilante group had left their area. He silently prayed no one else in the quarters would be harmed, but for the moment, he was simply grateful no one in his family had been injured or killed. He was quite sure he and Opal couldn’t take any more death.
By unspoken agreement, no one lighted a candle. There was no reason to take the risk. The patrol thought the vigilantes were gone, but it was also possible one or two of the men would double back to try to catch anyone foolish enough to let their guard down.
Opal and Jewel slipped into the bedroom to tell the children the danger had passed, and to tuck them into their beds. Eddie heard the soft murmur of Opal’s voice. A short time later he felt her soft body press against his.
“See anything?” she whispered.
“No,” Eddie whispered back hesitantly.
“Eddie?”
“Did we make a mistake?” Eddie asked. “Should we have stayed in Pennsylvania?”
“No,” Opal said quietly, but firmly. “We might be in danger down here, but we’re with family. One thing I found out, Eddie, is that trouble can find you wherever you are. These are our people, and this is our city. We’re not gonna let hatred and fear run us out.”
Eddie marveled that this was the same woman
who had arrived in Richmond from Cromwell Plantation the year the war started. She was still plump, but that was the only resemblance. Her timidity had been forged into bold courage by all she had gone through.
“What are you thinking, Eddie?” Opal asked after a long silence.
“How proud Fannie would be of you,” he replied tenderly. He would never forget his first wife who had been killed in an armory explosion, but he knew that wherever she was, she was smiling down on them. He liked the idea of her, Susie, and Sadie all together. He knew it wasn’t possible to truly know what happened when you died, but he liked his version just fine.
“And of you,” Opal said, squeezing his hand. “It’s gonna be a fine day when we’re all together again. I still miss her, you know. I didn’t have my cousin for long enough.”
Eddie remained silent, knowing words wouldn’t change anything. He just gripped Opal’s hand more tightly.
Carrie settled back from her books and rubbed the back of her neck. A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost one in the morning. She smiled as she listened to the patter of rain on the roof, then extinguished her oil lamp and walked to the window. A cool breeze blew in as she stretched her arms and back. She swung around when she heard her door crack open, not surprised when Janie stuck her head in.
“I thought I heard you moving around.”
Carrie sat down on the window seat and patted the cushion next to her.
Janie settled down with a sigh. “I’m so glad for the rain.”
Carrie nodded, but kept staring out the window.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Janie prompted.
“I’m wondering if it rained on the plantation,” Carrie admitted quietly. “Remember the storm we had when we were last home? Robert and I went out very late that night and walked in the rain. We were soaked, but we didn’t care. The rain felt so wonderful.” She smiled as she remembered. “When we passed the horse pasture, Granite was racing around.” Her smile turned into laughter. “He ran up to us, snorted, and then took off again. I know the rain felt so good to him, too.”
Janie chuckled. “Matthew and I were out in it, too. He took me down by the river. I thought it was crazy to be on the water in case there was lightning, but there was something magical about watching the storm swirl across the water. When it finally stopped, the tree we were sitting under lit up with the light of what seemed to be thousands of fireflies. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t just beautiful because you’re in love?” Carrie teased.
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Janie breathed. “I never dreamed of feeling this way.” Her voice trailed off before she continued. “I thought I loved Clifford, but I never felt for him the way I feel about Matthew.”
Carrie grinned. “Matthew is coming tomorrow, isn’t he?”
“Yes!” Janie said excitedly. “His letter said he thought he would be in Philadelphia through all of September. Though he’ll be traveling for the newspaper and for his book, this will be his home base again.”
“That’s wonderful,” Carrie said enthusiastically, pushing down an uncomfortable feeling of envy.
“You miss Robert,” Janie stated after a lingering silence.
“More than I thought possible,” Carrie admitted as a wave of longing swept over her.
“Being here isn’t enough?”
Carrie sighed. Sometimes Janie knew her too well. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. I miss Robert terribly. But I also miss the plantation. I miss Rose and Moses. I miss Granite.”
“You miss home,” Janie said sympathetically.
“I miss home so much,” Carrie said passionately. “I thought being in school would consume me, but…” Her homesick feelings swirled with confusion.
“But…?” Janie pressed. “This is me, Carrie. I know you’re feeling something more than homesickness. Out with it.”
Carrie pushed black curls away from her face. She had been struggling with her feelings almost since the day she had arrived at school, but she had been able to push them aside. It was becoming more difficult. Still, she couldn’t find a way to put them into words—at least not words she was willing to say.
“Carrie?” Janie’s voice was warm and concerned.
“I don’t know…” Carrie started helplessly, pushing back the curtains to stare up at the dark sky. Streetlights glimmered on the puddles the rain was making, but the murky blackness more accurately portrayed her feelings. The golden pools collecting on the road seemed nothing more than a mockery.
“You’re not happy at school,” Janie said quietly.
Carrie gasped and spun around. “How did you know?” She managed a chuckle when Janie remained silent. “Okay, I know that was a silly question. You know me almost as well as I know myself. Sometimes I’m sure you know me better than I know myself.” She frowned in the darkness, still not ready to communicate what she was feeling. Why was it so difficult to understand her own mind sometimes?
“Tell me what it is,” Janie invited after another silence.
“I believe so differently than the doctors at the school do,” Carrie finally said, almost cringing when she heard the words. How could she so disagree with the very women she had come to learn from? When Janie remained silent, Carrie knew she was giving her time to express her feelings. She relaxed and searched for the right words. “I’ve been feeling this way almost from the beginning, but I tried to tell myself I was just being arrogant because things are so different.”
“What exactly is so different?” Janie asked.
Carrie listened closely, but she heard no judgement. “Don’t you know?”
Janie took a deep breath. “You’re upset because they turn their nose up at herbal remedies and anything homeopathic.”
“Yes,” Carrie cried. Hearing Janie say the words unleashed a torrent of emotion inside her. “I realize medicine has made many advances, but….” Her mind flashed to all she had learned from Dr. Wild. “Surgery changed so much during the war…” she sputtered. Other memories filled her mind as her thoughts congealed. “But if not for the herbs the doctors here turn their noses up at, many of the patients at Chimborazo would have died. All of the patients down at the black hospital would have died.” Everything she had been pushing down rose to the surface. “So many of the things they call remedies now are just pure nonsense.”
“Like?”
Carrie spun around and stared at Janie. “Don’t you know?” she asked again, wishing the darkness was not shrouding her friend’s face. “You were there with me all through the war, Janie. You know what we did!”
Janie sighed. “Yes, I know.”
Carrie peered at her, trying to analyze what she was hearing. “It doesn’t bother you?” she demanded.
“And if it does?” Janie asked, a helpless note in her voice. “What difference will it make? This is the only medical school for women in Philadelphia. What good will it do to disagree? I want to become a doctor,” she said. “When I get my degree, I can run my practice the way I want to, but until then I just need to learn what they are teaching. I guess it really doesn’t matter to me if I agree or not.”
Carrie knew there was truth in what Janie was saying, but she chafed at what she was being asked to do.
Janie felt her angst. “First do no harm,” she murmured in understanding.
Carrie shook her head. “Actually, that is not part of the Hippocratic Oath. At least not the original one.” She could feel Janie’s stare. “It’s true. I found a book in the library a few days ago. The phrase, ‘First, do no harm,’ came from an English physician named Thomas Inman.”
Janie cocked her head. “The English physician who is still alive?”
“Yes. I agree with what he said, but it was not part of the original oath.”
“I didn’t know that,” Janie murmured.
Carrie warmed to her subject, eager to get away from her earlier thoughts. “Hippocrates has often been called
the father of medicine. It is believed that either he or one of his students wrote the oath in the fifth century BC.” She stood and walked to her desk and pulled down a book from the shelf next to it. She turned on her light and flipped the pages. “I won’t read all of it, but this is the part I find most important:
“With regard to healing the sick, I will devise and order for them the best diet, according to my judgment and means; and I will take care that they suffer no hurt or damage.
Nor shall any man's entreaty prevail upon me to administer poison to anyone; neither will I counsel any man to do so. Moreover, I will give no sort of medicine to any pregnant woman, with a view to destroy the child.
Further, I will comport myself and use my knowledge in a godly manner.
Whatsoever house I may enter, my visit shall be for the convenience and advantage of the patient; and I will willingly refrain from doing any injury or wrong from falsehood, and (in an especial manner) from acts of an amorous nature, whatever may be the rank of those who it may be my duty to cure, whether mistress or servant, bond or free.
Whatever, in the course of my practice, I may see or hear (even when not invited), whatever I may happen to obtain knowledge of, if it be not proper to repeat it, I will keep sacred and secret within my own breast.
If I faithfully observe this oath, may I thrive and prosper in my fortune and profession, and live in the estimation of posterity; or on breach thereof, may the reverse be my fate!”
Carrie put the book back on her desk. “And I will take care that they suffer no hurt or damage,” she repeated quietly. She knew by the look on Janie’s face that she was remembering what they had talked about in class today. “Can you honestly say that bloodletting does not inflict hurt or damage?” she asked angrily. “Withdrawing large quantities of blood from a patient to cure or prevent illness and disease is ridiculous.”
“Doctor Jamison said it was being questioned and not used so much anymore,” Janie protested as she looked away uncomfortably.
