Shifted By The Winds

by Ginny Dye

  Janie’s eyes widened. “Do you have enough energy to tell us about it?”

  “No,” Carrie admitted, “but I will tell you nothing is more satisfying than knowing I have the power to heal people of a disease that is killing thousands all over the city, and even more across the country.”

  “The cholera?” Janie breathed. “The remedy worked?”

  Carrie closed her eyes for a moment. “Like a miracle,” she replied. “So many were sick…” She told Janie and Matthew about Faith. “She is still weak, but she was eating soup when I left, and looks almost back to normal.” She shook her head. “I was sure she was going to die when I saw her vomiting into the bucket.” Shuddering, she pushed the thought from her mind. “A few drops of veratrum gave her back her life.”

  “We saw Sarah’s herbal medicines bring people back, too,” Janie said. “What makes this so different?”

  “I don’t know that I can explain it yet,” Carrie confessed, realizing she was too exhausted to make the effort. She just wanted to enjoy the company of her friends. She and Carolyn had administered camphor to hundreds who were just beginning to feel ill, leaving bottles of remedy with each family. Michael had made two more trips to the dispensary, where they were formulating remedy as fast as they could. Biddy had insisted on paying for every drop of it, placing an order for as much as the dispensary could create. They had treated at least thirty patients who were as gravely ill as Faith had been. Each of them had responded to the veratrum. Carrie had enlisted the help of neighborhood women to cook up huge vats of soup that would be delivered to everyone that was ill. Men had been sent to bring back jugs and bottles of water from areas of Philadelphia protected by the sanitation system. There was still a lot of work to be done, but she knew she had made a difference.

  She smiled at Janie and Matthew. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now I want to be distracted by something else. I have been so immersed in study that I realized at some point on the way home that I know absolutely nothing about what is going on in the world.” She fixed her gaze on Matthew. “I’m betting you can fix that for me.”

  Matthew watched her for a long moment. He must have been satisfied with what he saw, because he gave her an easy grin. “You’ve come to the right place,” he assured her.

  Janie stood and moved toward the icebox. “Do you have room for some more food?”

  “Only if it is some of Alice’s apple pie,” Carrie answered. “How does that woman find time to bake apple pies and make apple butter?” she asked with a frown.

  “Not everyone spends fourteen hours a day in class or with their nose in a book,” Janie retorted as she placed an apple pie on the table.

  Carrie stared at it, suddenly hungry again as Janie cut through the flaky crust, releasing the aroma of apples and cinnamon into the kitchen.

  “Can you make pie like this, Janie?” Matthew asked as he stared at the piece she cut and laid on his plate.

  Janie laughed. “Will you be able to afford a cook for us when you’re a wealthy writer?”

  “Does that mean the answer is no?”

  Carrie laughed at the morose sound in his voice. “Men are pathetic. Why should Janie be the one to make the pie?”

  Matthew cocked his head and eyed her thoughtfully. “You have a point. My mama always made the pies in our house, but the world is changing so fast I suppose this is another thing that could change.” He glanced toward the ceiling. “Do you think Alice will teach me?” he asked with a sigh.

  “Oh, fine,” Janie said, only her twitching lips giving her away. “Make me feel guilty. I tell you what. We’ll have Alice teach both of us. Between the two of us, we should be able to make sure there is some kind of pie around for what will be our otherwise neglected children.”

  “Children? I simply want pie around for the aspiring author. I’m quite sure I will write better if I have constant access to a delicious pie. I understand it stimulates the brain cells.”

  “Or you’ll just become so huge you won’t be able to move from behind your desk,” Janie quipped.

  Matthew nodded. “At least that means I will get a lot of writing done.”

  Carrie laughed, more of the fatigue melting away as the warmth of the kitchen and the easy banter of her friends restored her. “Enough! Are you going to tell me what is going on or not?”

  Matthew nodded, his smile tightening. “It’s not all good,” he warned.

  “I quit hoping for all good years ago,” Carrie responded. “I’ll just settle for the truth.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The good news is that President Johnson’s tenure is as good as dead,” Matthew began.

  Carrie pushed her thoughts past her fatigue. “His ‘Swing Around the Circle’ campaign did not go well?”

  “That would be putting it mildly,” Matthew said. “A more appropriate word would be disastrous. It’s been about two weeks since it concluded. The repercussions have grown stronger as the news has reported over and over again how damaging it was. Our president believed he could regain the trust of moderate Republicans by exploiting tensions between them and their radical counterparts on the tour.”

  “He only alienated them more?” Carrie guessed. She had long ago lost any respect for the man who had taken Lincoln’s place.

  “I doubt the end result would have been any different, but it would have been far better for Johnson if the tour had never been made. Having said that, I am thrilled for the country that he decided to do it. He doesn’t have a chance of maintaining control of Congress next month.” Matthew looked thoughtful. “It’s sad, actually. I believe when Johnson first began his reconstruction approach, he meant to fulfill Lincoln’s promise to benevolently bind up the nation’s wounds after the war.”

  “That all changed when Congress began enacting legislation to guarantee the rights of the freed slaves,” Janie observed.

  “Yes,” Matthew agreed. “Johnson was happy to be forgiving with the whites, but when it came right down to it, our president was not able to move beyond his own prejudice and bigotry to simply do what was right for the country.”

  “His power corrupted him?” Carrie asked

  Matthew considered her question. “I believe he gradually realized he had the power to push forward the agenda he had never stopped believing in. I think he tried to push it aside for a brief time, but the reality of black equality—once it was staring him in the face—was more than he could handle.”

  “So he did everything he could to stop it.” Carrie said.

  “Yes, but it backfired on him. There are many northerners who don’t believe blacks are equal, but they do believe they should be treated fairly. They are also aware they lost hundreds of thousands of their sons and husbands in a war ignited by the South. If for no other reason than their belief the South should be punished and held accountable for its actions, they have grown sick and tired of their commander-in-chief.”

  “Was every stop on the tour harmful to him?” Janie asked.

  “No,” Matthew admitted. “It actually started rather well for him. He was well received in Baltimore, New York and right here in Philadelphia.”

  “Here? In Philadelphia?” Carrie was surprised. “Did you go to the speech?” She watched as Matthew’s eyes narrowed with disgust. “I take it you did, and that you weren’t impressed?”

  Matthew shrugged. “His speech was fairly benign, until he compared himself to Jesus Christ.”

  Carrie and Janie gaped at him.

  “What?” Carrie managed to ask, hoping she was not hearing Matthew correctly.

  “He recounted his rise from the tailor’s bench to the presidency,” Matthew said wryly. “Then he compared himself to Jesus Christ and explained that, like the Savior, he too liked to pardon repentant sinners. The problem, he revealed, was that Congress and the radicals still wanted to break up the Union. An effort he was trying to prevent.”

  A long silence fell on the kitchen when he finished speaking.

 
“I see,” Carrie said, trying to absorb what he was saying, but hardly able to wrap her brain around something so ludicrous. “And the people of Philadelphia supported him? I find that difficult to believe.”

  “Well, some of them,” Matthew reminded her. “I think our city has far more people that know how destructive this man is to our country. The tide turned against him in the Midwest. The crowds were much more hostile. Johnson lost his temper several times and said things his advisors cringed at.” His voice grew tight with anger. “When he was in St. Louis, he accused the Radical Republicans of inciting the New Orleans riot. He compared himself to Jesus again, saying the Republicans were betraying him like Judas had Christ.”

  Carrie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be angry. “You’re serious?” she breathed. Her mind filled with images of the stories Matthew had told of the New Orleans riot. She was sure he had protected them from the most heinous acts, but the ones he had shared had made her blood boil.

  “When he got to Indianapolis the next day, the crowd was so loud and hostile he couldn’t speak. When he left, violence broke out between his supporters and opponents. One man was shot and killed.” Matthew took another bite of pie, chewing it thoughtfully before he continued. “The press has crucified him.” Satisfaction filled his voice.

  “Fitting, since he compares himself to Jesus Christ,” Janie muttered.

  “What is going to happen?” Carrie asked. “You say there is bad news, but I have to admit, Johnson’s failure is nothing but good news to me.”

  “And to me,” Matthew said, “but nothing is going to be resolved easily or quickly. I believe the Republicans will take Congress in a landslide victory in November, but Johnson will still be president. It is going to be a long series of battles.”

  “But the Republicans will have control,” Carrie argued. “They can block Johnson’s bills and override vetoes.”

  “They can, and I believe they will,” Matthew agreed.

  Carrie stared at him, fatigue pressing down on her again. “Then what are you not telling me?”

  Matthew sighed and glanced at Janie.

  “Did you really think she wouldn’t demand to know everything?” Janie asked.

  Carrie took a deep breath and waited for the rest of what Matthew had to say.

  Matthew rocked back in his chair and leaned against the wall for a minute, his red hair contrasting badly with the purple flowers on the wallpaper, then let the chair legs drop with a thump. “It’s going to get much worse before it gets better,” he said. “The Republicans are not the only ones who know they are going to be victorious. Southerners know they are about to lose their ally in the White House. They know they are going to have many of their newly re-established powers taken back from them as the new reconstruction policies take shape early next year. They realize they are going to be forced to treat the black man as an equal.” He paused. “They are terrified, and they are determined to fight back. If President Johnson can no longer help them, they are going to take action on their own.”

  “How?” Carrie demanded, her throat tightening around the word with dread.

  “Vigilante groups are gaining power in the South,” Matthew said reluctantly. “Reports have been coming in from journalists. Southerners believe Radical Reconstruction is little more than the social and political emasculation of whites and the exaltation of blacks. They say the Ku Klux Klan and the other vigilante groups have been created as a necessary self-defense movement. They proclaim they have to take action to protect themselves, their families, and what is left of the South.”

  Carrie was reminded of just how protected she was here in Philadelphia. “How?” she repeated, knowing her voice sounded harsh in the quiet kitchen. She remembered hearing about the Ku Klux Klan before. Matthew and Peter indicated they feared it could become something more, but she had been too buried in school to keep up with it. Matthew’s expression told her it had indeed become something more.

  Matthew sighed. “Some of it is more of a play for control. The Klan has become more active since the riots in New Orleans and Memphis. What started as a social club that played pranks has transformed into a true vigilante movement. The whites are afraid of losing total control of the South. And, like with Johnson, the power the KKK members feel when they dress up in their costumes has made them aspire to more vicious activities. But they are not the only ones,” he added. “There are many other groups made up of what seems to be mostly Confederate veterans eager to continue violence among the freed blacks.”

  “How?” Carrie repeated once more. “Quit trying to protect me,” she demanded, pushing back her fatigue again, but realizing it was draining her ability to be patient. “I simply want to know the truth. The sooner you tell me, the quicker I can quit haranguing you.”

  Matthew met her eyes squarely. “They are going out to cabins at night and confiscating firearms. They are breaking up prayer meetings and social gatherings.”

  Carrie frowned. “That’s annoying, but…”

  “They are whipping people, raping women and killing blacks around the country,” Matthew finished, his voice pinched with anger and pain. “Over one thousand have been murdered in Texas already, but every state has a growing number of deaths. It’s going to get worse.”

  Carrie closed her eyes in a futile attempt to block out the images, but forced them back open. She had demanded to know the truth. She was not going to hide from it. “What can be done?”

  Matthew shrugged, shadows filling his eyes. “Until President Johnson loses the last of his control in November? Until the new Congress can pass new Reconstruction acts and step in to take control of things in the South?” His voice tightened. “Nothing. Every black person simply has to try to stay safe.”

  Carrie gasped. Her thoughts flew to the plantation. “Rose… Moses… The children…” her voice cracked. “All of them are in danger?”

  “As are your father, Abby, Jeremy, Marietta and any white person who stands for equality for the blacks,” Matthew snapped, anger shooting sparks from his eyes. “And as soon as you step foot back on Southern soil, you will be too.”

  Carrie sat back in her chair, her stunned mind absorbing the information. She had known it was bad, but her Philadelphia cocoon, and the focus on school and the cholera epidemic, had virtually closed her mind to other realities. “Abby sent me a letter recently,” she murmured. “She tried to hide it, but I think she is scared.”

  “As she should be,” Matthew said grimly. “I have warned them they must be extremely careful.”

  Carrie sat quietly while she fought to comprehend what she was hearing. She was aware of Janie taking her hand, but she remained silent for a long time. The combination of fear and exhaustion was making it difficult to think. “It’s not over,” she whispered, understanding suddenly flooding in as all the pieces clicked together.

  “It’s not over?” Janie asked.

  Carrie nodded. “The war. It’s not over. The surrender at Appomattox supposedly ended things, but it didn’t. The South may have surrendered its armies, but the soldiers and many of the citizens are determined to fight on. That means the government is going to have to continue to fight against a white insurgency that relies on murder and intimidation to undo what their defeat in the war created.” Words tumbled out of her mouth. “The war is not over,” she repeated, looking to Matthew for confirmation, though she had a wild hope he could prove her wrong.

  “You’re right,” Matthew agreed heavily, dashing her flimsy hopes. “President Johnson tried to officially end the war this summer. Congress seized control of his war powers and denied him the right to do it. They know the war has done nothing but enter a new phase. And it’s just beginning.”

  Eddie moved through the dark streets easily. He was alert, but the ever-present fear had disappeared with the emergence of the Black Militia units. He felt hope pouring into his soul as he thought about how things had improved. For the first time since moving to Richmond, he felt he and his family were sa
fe. No one had let down their guard, but neither were they hiding in their houses each night from fear of attack.

  “Howdy, Eddie.”

  “Hello, Charlie,” Eddie responded as he moved toward the four men from the Irrepressibles who were stationed on the corner across from the Second African Baptist Church that had been burned that spring, on the eve of the Emancipation Day Celebration. It had taken less than two months for the black community to lay the cornerstone for a new church building. Now it towered in defiance of those who would threaten to destroy it. “Seen anything tonight?”

  “Nah. Them white boys know better than to come down here and bother us now.”

  Eddie nodded. It certainly seemed to be true. At least five black militia units had been formed, but the Irrepressibles, with more than two hundred members, was the most prominent. All of them had served in the Union Army. They loved nothing better than to march around the city and the black quarters in full military regalia, their rifles and cavalry sabers held defiantly. “Make anybody angry tonight?” he asked with a chuckle.

  Charlie laughed. “I reckon we did. About a hundred of us were out on the edges of the quarter before it got dark. I don’t reckon anybody be coming to bother us tonight. The fear on them white faces felt right nice.” Satisfaction deepened his voice.

  Eddie understood. Charlie’s house had been broken into in early summer. His wife and children had been forced to watch while vigilantes beat him, threatening to come back for his family if he didn’t leave the city. Not willing to sacrifice his family, he had been ready to follow their orders, until Eddie had appeared with news of the militia units. Charlie was out on the streets every single night, proud of the fact he was protecting his family and many others.

  Eddie had been reading almost daily reports in the Richmond Dispatch that complained about the militias, but he didn’t care. Not one white gang attack on blacks had happened since the militia went into effect two months earlier. “Keep up the good work,” he called cheerfully. He turned the corner and walked toward his house.