Shifted By The Winds

by Ginny Dye

  Carrie stared at her as she searched for words. She had absolutely no desire to return to Philadelphia.

  Abby reached for her hand. “I understand why you have chosen to stay on the plantation, my dear, and I completely support you, but I believe you might be leaving some things unfinished. In my experience, unfinished things can sometimes cause problems and regrets we would never have anticipated,” she said gently. “I was planning a trip to Philadelphia this fall anyway. It would give us a wonderful time together, and when you returned, you could feel confident in your course of action. It’s just a suggestion,” she added quickly. “You are a grown woman who is fully capable of making her own decisions.”

  Carrie met Abby’s eyes evenly as she thought through her words. She felt like the eighteen-year-old girl who had been challenged about her beliefs concerning slavery. She didn’t really enjoy the challenge any more now than she had then, but she had matured enough to know it deserved to be considered carefully. She swung her eyes out to the pasture when she heard Granite give a loud snort. Smiling, she watched as he kicked up his heels and raced around the field, his head and tail held high. There was no part of her that wanted to leave the plantation and board a train for Philadelphia, but there was a very quiet voice murmuring that Abby was right.

  Her last conversation with Dr. Strikener had ended with her assuring him she would be back in two weeks to start school. She had promised Biddy and Faith the same thing. She knew they would all understand if they were to receive a letter of explanation, but she wondered if they would be hurt. There was another tiny voice asking how she would feel if she never saw Biddy again. She thought of Janie going back home alone and suddenly knew it would be much easier for her friend if she had help choosing new housemates.

  Carrie took a deep breath. “I guess I did make a rather abrupt decision,” she said ruefully, as she continued to stare out into the pasture.

  Abby shook her head. “You followed your heart, Carrie. It’s one of the things I love the most about you. I just happen to have done something many years ago that was very similar to what you are planning on doing. I don’t regret my decision, but I do regret some of the ramifications of how I did it.”

  Carrie swung around to meet her eyes again. “When are you thinking about making the trip?” She had made a promise to Felicia that she had no intention of breaking.

  “I had already planned on returning with you and Janie,” Abby admitted. “I want to go, and then return home, before the first snows come. Your father assures me winter is coming early this year, though I have never seen a wooly caterpillar talk!”

  Carrie and Thomas both laughed.

  “I don’t know that we’ll ever turn our city woman into a farmer,” Thomas said affectionately.

  “Probably not,” Carrie agreed, “but I’m not sure either of us will ever be as wise as she is. I’d say having the benefit of her wisdom is much more important than turning her into a farmer.” She smiled when she saw relief fill Abby’s eyes. “You’re right, Abby. As usual,” she sighed.

  Abby shook her head. “There are plenty of times when I’m wrong,” she insisted.

  “Perhaps,” Carrie replied. “But I have yet to see them.” The moment she decided to return, she knew she was making the right choice. She was also quite sure she and Abby would have a wonderful time, and then she would come home to spend the winter right where she wanted to be.

  Four days later, Carrie stood next to the wagon already pointed toward Richmond. She wrapped her arms around Robert. “I’ll miss you,” she murmured.

  Robert smiled as he leaned down to kiss her. “You’ll be back in two weeks. You’re not leaving, Carrie, you’re going on vacation. I hope you have a wonderful time.”

  Carrie grinned. “You’re right.” She was very much looking forward to her time with Abby and Janie. Matthew had left two days earlier to cover the elections in Washington, DC. Janie would start school almost immediately upon their arrival, while she and Abby would have time to enjoy the city. She knew Abby had some business obligations, but she had already been assured they would not take much time.

  Felicia ran out onto the porch. “Don’t forget you promised you would be back, Carrie.”

  Carrie gave the girl a firm nod. “I wouldn’t miss the Leonid Shower for anything,” she assured her. “I know I could see it in Philadelphia, but I also know the street lights would diminish it, and I want to have you there to explain everything to me. I’ll be here, Felicia,” she promised again.

  Felicia, obviously satisfied, nodded and then ran forward to hug Thomas one more time. “Thank you for everything, Uncle Thomas.”

  Thomas knelt down so he would be at eye level and took her in his arms again. “I’m proud of you, Felicia.”

  Felicia looked startled for a moment, and then her smile beamed out. “You’ll send me everything about the election as soon as you get it?”

  Thomas smiled back. “I’m sending a special courier just for you as soon as we have the results,” he told her.

  Felicia stared at him, wide-eyed with wonder. “By special courier,” she gasped. “Really?”

  “I promise. This election will probably mean more to your people than any other election in history. I won’t leave you in suspense.”

  “It is important that black men get the vote,” Felicia said. “That won’t happen until Congress is held by enough Republicans to veto anything President Johnson comes up with.”

  Abby cocked her head. “Just black men, Felicia?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Felicia said in a solemn tone. “I wish women would get the vote at the same time, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “And why is that?” Abby pressed.

  Felicia frowned. “Partly because I don’t believe our country is ready for it, but everything I have read also tells me that women are not united enough to make it happen. There are too many women who don’t understand the necessity of having a voice.”

  Abby was the one to frown now. “I’m afraid you’re right, my dear.”

  “It won’t be long before I will be able to help, Aunt Abby,” Felicia said fervently. “I’ll be eleven years old soon, and then I will just keep getting older. I believe this will be a long battle, but there are a lot of us growing up who will be able to make sure it happens. I believe it will happen in my lifetime.”

  Abby seemed at a loss for words as she gazed at Felicia.

  “I told you she’s not your average ten-year-old,” Thomas said.

  “I’m almost eleven,” Felicia protested.

  “When is your birthday?” Carrie asked.

  Felicia grinned. “The same day as the Leonid Meteor Shower,” she revealed. “It will be the best birthday present ever!”

  Thomas smiled. “You’re almost eleven,” he agreed. “But you’re still not an average eleven year old.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Abby knelt down beside Thomas. “You are a remarkable girl, Felicia Samuels.”

  “Not a remarkable little girl? So many people tell me I shouldn’t worry so much about these things because I’m just a little girl.”

  “You are definitely not a little girl,” Abby said. “You are a very intelligent young lady on the verge of becoming a powerful woman. Age should never make a difference.” She reached out and grasped Felicia’s hand. “Keep learning. I predict people will be listening to what you have to say very soon. In fact, I’m going to make quite sure they do.”

  Felicia straightened as her eyes snapped with a determined confidence. “I’ll keep learning, Aunt Abby. I’ll be ready when the time is right.”

  Abby met her eyes squarely, woman to woman. “I know you will be, Felicia. I know you will be.”

  Robert grinned as Mark and Susan emerged from the barn. “Did you get your goodbyes all said?” he called teasingly.

  Susan laughed. “I can hardly bear to leave them,” she murmured. “I know all those babies are in the best hands possible, but I’m heartbroken that I won’t see th
em again until spring.”

  Amber, walking at their side, piped in. “They aren’t even going to look the same, Miss Susan. They’ll be almost all grown.”

  “Great…” Susan groaned. “Just rub it in.” Then she brightened. “Those colts and fillies are going to put our stable on the map, just like they are going to do for you.”

  Amber nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I reckon that is true. Me and Clint will work real hard with them over the winter.”

  “Clint and I will work with them.” Rose corrected as she gazed down from the porch, Hope asleep on her shoulder.

  Amber shook her head sadly, but her eyes danced with fun. “You see what it’s like, Miss Susan? All I want to do is work with horses, and instead I have my teacher hounding me about how to talk. I just can’t ever seem to get away from it.”

  Susan patted her shoulder. “You’ll be glad for it one day,” she promised. “Most people, rightly or wrongly, judge others by how they speak. You don’t want anything to stand in your way of being seen as exactly what you are—a smart girl who is also an amazing horse trainer.”

  Amber lifted her head proudly. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “Clint and I will work with your colts and fillies all winter long. I promise you and Mr. Mark will be thrilled with them.”

  “That I’m sure of,” Mark agreed as he pulled Amber into his arms to hug her tightly. “It has been an honor meeting you, Amber.”

  Amber ducked her head shyly, but her eyes shone with delight. “Thank you, Mr. Mark. Will I see you in the spring?”

  “That you will, young lady. We had discussed Robert shipping them up to us, but we feel better about taking the entire journey with them. We’ll be back in April or May, depending on the road conditions, to take all of them home.”

  A sharp whinny sounding from the pasture made all of them laugh.

  “Not you, All My Heart!” Amber called. “No one will ever take you away from me.”

  The laughter increased as All My Heart stared at her young mistress and bobbed her head several times to confirm the promise.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Matthew gazed up at the Capitol Building in Washington, DC, his heart pounding as he envisioned what must be happening within Congress. He had lived through many exciting and intense times in American history, but he was quite certain none of them could exceed the impact the next months and years would have. The war had changed the canvas of the country. What happened in the next months and years would determine what was painted on that canvas.

  “Wouldn’t you like to be inside those walls today?”

  Matthew nodded as Peter Wilcher joined him on the bench. He had been thrilled to run into his friend the day he had arrived in the city. They had secured a hotel room together, sharing the exhilaration of the election returns as they had come in. “I would give just about anything to be in there,” he admitted.

  Peter leaned his lanky frame back against the wooden slats. “There’s never been an election like this,” he said, satisfaction dripping from his voice.

  Matthew smiled. “It’s the first time a midterm election has swung so far from the typical results,” he mused, creating his next article in his mind as he spoke. Political experience said this election should have resulted in the Republican Party losing influence. Instead, the party that had taken power with Lincoln’s election had just swept the midterm elections as well, giving them enough members in Congress to gain the two-thirds majority required to override any of President Johnson’s vetoes.

  Peter chuckled. “The most amazing thing is that the Democrats seem to be actually shocked by the results. Surely they knew what was coming.”

  Matthew lifted a brow as he stared up at Lady Liberty reigning over the city from her perch atop the Capitol Building. “I think they actually believed the possibility of black suffrage would sway enough people from the Radical Republican stance to change the outcome of the election.”

  Peter scowled. “In spite of the Democrats’ insistence on making the entire election about black rights, the country is smart enough to recognize this election actually determined whether the war had any true meaning or not. The last months have made it obvious that President Johnson’s policies are doing nothing but allowing the South to recreate the same society that led us into the war in the first place. The country has paid too high of a price to allow that to happen.” He glanced over at Matthew. “The articles you wrote after the riots in Memphis and New Orleans played a large role in making people realize the truth.”

  “Thank you,” Matthew replied, wishing he could believe that, but too frustrated with the reality for Peter’s statement to make him feel better. “We still have a long way to go, though. While the Republicans have regained Congress, the situation in Memphis and New Orleans is still ridiculous. It’s not going to change,” he added. He watched the wind catch the flag flying over the Capitol. The breeze caught it and made it stand out strongly against the blue sky. The sight caused a mixture of pride and a despair he was doing his best to battle.

  Peter turned to look at him more fully. “I’m afraid the election has taken all my attention,” he said apologetically. “I’ve lost track of what has happened in the aftermath of the riots.”

  “You and the rest of the country,” Matthew said wearily. “I’m sorry. I know the elections have taken up the majority of everyone’s time and attention, but the people of Memphis have received nothing in the way of justice.”

  Peter stared at him. “Nothing?” he asked with disbelief. “I know I’ve been preoccupied, but I should know this.”

  Matthew shrugged, his frustration deepening as he thought about what he had learned regarding the aftermath of the riot. He had written articles, but they had been buried in the crush of news about the election. “It gained the attention of Congress long enough for them to use it to malign Johnson’s policies. They set up investigations that clearly revealed the truth about the murders that took place during the riots, but our government ultimately left it up to Tennessee and Memphis to mete out justice.” He clenched his fists as he thought about the horror he had witnessed during those days. “Of course, they did nothing. There have been no indictments, and Memphis has refused to pay to rebuild anything that was destroyed.”

  “And the government let them get away with that?” Peter gasped.

  “General Grant tried to change the outcome. When he sent the findings of the committee, he included a letter recommending the army arrest and hold the rioters until the Memphis civil authorities agreed to prosecute them, and he also urged that the government force the city to pay restitution.”

  “That sounds right,” Peter said. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Matthew growled. “General Grant sent it on to Secretary of State Stanton. Stanton promptly passed it off to President Johnson. Instead of making a decision, our president sent it on to Attorney General Speed.”

  “So he could avoid responsibility,” Peter snapped.

  “Or at least try to,” Matthew responded. “Speed’s reaction was predictable. He said he found the actions against the blacks reprehensible, but that he saw no legal basis for army intervention, and no legal basis to force Memphis to pay restitution. He sent the papers back to Johnson, who had Stanton file them.”

  “In a very dark place, most likely.”

  Matthew sighed. “That’s the crux of it.” He shook his head. “Men who were there during the riot have either resigned or been reassigned to get them out of Memphis. There is virtually no one left who was there during those terrible days. It just all seems to have disappeared,” he said bitterly. He knew those days would never leave the minds of those who had been attacked.

  Peter joined him in a long silence. “What happened to the little girl Moses took home?” he finally asked.

  The question elicited a smile from Matthew. “Felicia is one of the brightest little girls I have ever had the privilege to know. Her parents were murdered, but I believe Felicia will be a powerful voice in b
lack rights when she grows up.”

  “Dare I ask what is happening in New Orleans after the riots?”

  Matthew gritted his teeth. He wished he could push the terrible memories of the New Orleans violence from his mind, but they still haunted him at night. The nightmares were diminishing, but he didn’t think he would ever lose the vivid images of coldblooded murder all around him. “It’s worse.”

  “Worse?” Peter echoed hollowly. “Is that possible?”

  “A grand jury was called just two days after the riot. They indicted every man, white and black, who was a leader in the convention for the black vote. That is, those who were still alive after the massacre,” Matthew seethed. “None of the police, nor one white citizen, was charged.” He understood Peter’s total silence. What could you possibly say in response to such blatant injustice? “On top of it, the Republican congressmen who encouraged the leaders of the convention to move forward all denied doing so, and most of them denied having any knowledge of it at all.” He couldn’t control the shudder that rippled through him in the wake of the raw memories this conversation was unearthing.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter said numbly.

  Matthew forced himself to shake off the sense of futility that had almost made him walk away from journalism entirely. “It wasn’t all for naught,” he managed. “The riots, and all the articles that were written, painted a clear picture that the South was willing to take any measures necessary to make sure the former slaves would be denied freedom and equality.”

  “All the articles in the Southern papers after the New Orleans riots only confirmed that truth,” Peter observed.

  “Yes,” Matthew replied, biting back his anger. “There was a barrage of editorials making it very clear that the riot was a ‘salutary warning that the South would never submit to Yankee rule.’ ” He drawled the words in a very passable imitation of a New Orleans accent, and then scowled. “The editorials convinced northern voters that the South has refused to accept the verdict of their defeat in the war.”