by Lena Hart
But Logan didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about what had become of his old regiment. The war was over, and everything—and everyone—he’d known was dead, including his allegiance to the Confederacy. Along with all the things he had once believed in. There was nothing more for him to do but to move forward. More precisely, move westward. There, he would be able to start over and build a new life.
Eager to get going, Logan finalized the sale with the old shopkeeper and headed to the ticket station. Tomorrow morning he planned to be on the first train out of this town. He would make it to Colorado, find himself a nice plot of homesteader land to settle on, and finally build a home to call his own.
With his train ticket in his breast pocket, Logan made his way back to the small lodging he’d been renting a room in these past few days while he finalized last-minute business. As he approached the Negro-owned establishment, the irony wasn’t lost on him that he now depended on shelter from a race of people he had once been the provider for. In fact, many of the homes and businesses in the area were owned by blacks. But they didn’t bother him and he didn’t bother them.
He watched as women and their children roamed the streets, some moving in hurried steps as they tugged their young ones along, others taking leisurely strolls or stopping to socialize. Not unlike how things had been on his farm, but now these people could go and come as they pleased. Hell, if some of the radical Confederates he encountered in the war could see them now, they would realize how wrong their views were. It was apparent the Negroes could live and thrive on their own.
Logan couldn’t say he was nostalgic for his old life on his father’s small farm. He’d been sixteen when his father had fetched him from Mexico to live and work on his small tobacco farm. Surprisingly, his relationship with his father had been better than one would expect from a man who had only just reunited with his illegitimate son. Having spent the majority of his youth working in order to ease the burden from his overloaded mother, Logan had not been a stranger to hard work. But over time, he had grown accustomed to his position on the farm, and managing servants and slaves had come easy. Before the war, the farm had been his life and Logan had never imagined how much he, and everything he believed in, would change because of it.
Now he was undergoing yet another change in his life, and it involved letting go everything he had been taught during his time with his father.
Logan crossed the courtyard and passed a crowd of men, women, and children gathered in a semicircle. There was a small stage being erected with crates and planks of wood. More people began to gather, and a young woman in a yellow and white day dress was helped up on the stage. Her dark brown skin glowed beautifully against the high afternoon sun, and her bright dress was tapered close to her waist, outlining her figure nicely while still remaining modest. He vaguely wondered just how shapely she was under the prim and proper garb.
His interest and curiosity got the better of him, and he moved to take a better look. Before he could get closer, however, something solid bounced from his boot. He glanced down to find an apple resting beside his foot. A young boy, who couldn’t have been more than six years old, stood frozen in front of him, gripping a folded paper in his hand. Logan tried to offer him a friendly smile, but the Negro boy continued staring at him with more wariness than should have been on his young face. The look in his stricken gaze was as if he was staring at the devil himself.
With a small sigh, Logan lifted the fallen fruit, which now had a small bruise on the bottom, and held it out to the young boy. “It’d be a shame to let a fine apple go to waste.” Logan shrugged. “But if you don’t want it….”
He waited as the boy took ginger steps toward him to retrieve it. There weren’t many whites in this area of town, and Logan couldn’t blame the boy for his hesitance. Tales of the violent New York draft riots had made their way down South, and many Confederates had been filled with pride over the news that Negros had been targeted. Not even the burning of an orphan asylum housing colored children had stopped their celebrating. “Finally the damn Yanks realize who side they should be fighting for,” one commanding officer had boasted.
The boy snatched the apple from Logan’s hand and took off running. Logan sighed. He couldn’t blame the boy for his fear of him. With the things he’d seen, the things he’d done, it would put the fear of God in anyone.
He turned back to the crowd, and a dark man dressed in religious garb got on the makeshift stage and began to address the crowd.
“Good afternoon, brothers and sisters. Thank you for joining us for our official celebration of freedom. Three years ago, our president, Mr. Abraham Lincoln, God rest his soul, signed the Emancipation Proclamation into law. But it wasn’t until last June, in Galveston, Texas, that all slaves were finally set free.”
The crowd cheered as the reverend went on to highlight points from the proclamation. Logan watched the jubilant crowd, again noting how much things had changed from what he once understood to be his way of life.
“Now as many of you know,” the reverend continued, bringing forth the young woman in the yellow dress, “Miss Gracie and Miss Madeline will be leaving us tomorrow, so tonight is also a celebration of not only our independence, but also of them and all they’ve contributed to the community. As we bid them farewell, let’s remember to keep them in our hearts and prayers for their long journey.”
The crowd murmured and nodded their praise, and Logan stared up at the young woman who appeared bashful yet charmed by the attention. The way she gripped her hands in front of her also revealed how nervous she really was. Her strained smile was another indication. Her thick black hair was twisted into two large coils and held together by a snood at the back of her head, revealing a smooth, round face and large, dark eyes. From where he stood, he could see she was a very attractive woman, with a look of innocence that could easily replace all the ugliness he’d ever seen.
Logan shook his head at himself, scoffing at his romanticism. Nothing could make him forget the ugliness he’d witnessed—or the pain he’d inflicted. Not time or alcohol, and certainly not a pretty, wide-eyed young girl. Yet he couldn’t quite stop staring at her and he didn’t know why. She was only a woman—a Negro one at that—and it was foolish for him to let himself be captivated by an ordinary girl.
And yet there he stood, completely enthralled.
“…before we pray, Miss Gracie will graciously lead us into song one last time.”
The crowd suddenly grew quiet. Not even the wind dared to rustle a leaf. Logan started back toward his lodging, but he didn’t get far.
Her voice.
Like a rolling thunder, her voice moved through him with sweet vibrations. It was strong yet ethereal. The kind that myths were made of. The kind that could soothe and nurture any haunted soul. It enchanted and possessed him.
And kept him frozen where he stood.
“‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear…and grace my fears relieved,” she sang. “How precious did that grace appear…the hour I first believed…”
The hairs on the back of his neck stirred, and Logan couldn’t tear his eyes away. A singing angel, that’s what she was. She kept her eyes shut as she sang, and the serenity on her calm face enchanted him. There was a sort of peace there that he hadn’t felt in a long time. And her voice…it was like light illuminating a dark room, like drink to a thirsty man, and Logan didn’t realize until that moment how much he craved that lightness again.
Like everyone else in the courtyard, Logan was pulled into her musical spell as she sang the next verse of a song he’d grown all too familiar with on the ravaged battlefields of broken and desperate men.
“Amazing grace… How sweet the sound… that saved a wretch like me… I once was lost…but now am found… Was blind, but now I see…”
The last words glided from her lips in a hypnotic croon until it was nothing but an echo around them. Logan released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d held, but no one applauded or even moved becaus
e to do so would have somehow disrupted the magic that still lingered in the air.
Chapter Two
Gracie Shaw’s heart thumped in her chest as she began to slowly relax. It was always like this when she sang. Her muscles locked in a spell she couldn’t pull herself from, as if something or someone had taken over her body and she had no choice but to give in to it.
She took a tentative step back as Reverend Mavis came forward.
“That was beautiful, Miss Gracie. Now let us bow our heads and pray…”
Gracie hesitated, however. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She felt its warmth from where she stood, and looked out into the crowd of bent heads as the reverend began his prayer.
The man wasn’t hard to miss.
Out in the sea of dark faces was a single white one. Not as pale as some white men she had encountered, but whoever he was, he was certainly a stranger. Even under the brim of his hat, she could feel his intense scrutiny and it brought heat rushing to her cheeks. It was probably all in her head, but she couldn’t shake the unnerving sensation that he wanted something from her…something wholly intangible and beyond her reach.
They stood there staring at each other a moment longer, as if they were the only two present in the courtyard. The facial hair covering the lower half of his face hid his expression, which only added to his mystery. He was dressed simply, though the short-tapered ends of his hair said he wasn’t so destitute he couldn’t afford a regular haircut. His broad shoulders and the thick arms folded over his chest also said he wasn’t a stranger to hard work.
But who was he?
He was certainly an enigma, but there was something about him that pulled her attention to him and kept her gaze locked there. She was focused on only him, and he stood there as if he was prepared to wait forever for her to come to him…
Gracie blinked then swiftly bowed her head. She was truly losing her mind if she thought that. The fact that she had managed to come up with such a wild conclusion from just one look was a testament to her overactive imagination, as her parents liked to put it.
She blamed it on her sudden arranged marriage and the long travel she had ahead of her tomorrow. It was making her see things that weren’t there and fantasize about things that could never be. She must truly be desperate to get out of her marriage contract if she believed some strange white man was out there to whisk her away from a life she didn’t want.
What would it be like to be a miner’s wife?
Would it be demanding and tiresome or would she spend most of her days alone at home until he came home? From what she gathered from Mr. Robert Whitaker, he was the owner of several mining companies. Was he the type to sit behind a desk and have other men work for him or was he the type to labor alongside his men?
Gracie took a deep, shuddering breath to quell her sudden anxiety. No need to ponder on that now. She would know soon enough.
A chorus of “amens” rang out, and she became acutely aware that she had not listened to one word of Reverend Mavis’ prayer. She blamed that on the stranger, and made a promise to pray double tonight before bed.
Music and laughter broke out among the crowd as their small community began to celebrate their first year of Negro freedom. Different communities had begun celebrating it as early as January, when the proclamation had been signed into law, but their community had thought it more fitting to celebrate this month when the slaves in Galveston had finally been emancipated. Gracie was simply excited that they had such a holiday to celebrate, and was grateful she got to be a part of it in some small way before she left for good tomorrow.
She made her way off the stage, but not before her gaze unconsciously traveled over to where the stranger had stood. He was gone.
It was just as well. She didn’t have time to wonder about some strange man and his impolite staring. In less than eighteen hours, she would be on a train to Montana to meet her new husband. And she would never see her family again.
The thought filled her with such sadness that her steps faltered and the tears she had managed to hold at bay for weeks suddenly welled in her eyes. From the land maps she’d studied, Montana was a long way from New York, and she knew that after tonight, she would never have the choice of seeing her parents whenever she wanted, that she would not get to see her ten-year-old brother grow up to be a man.
Gracie quickly dashed the tears away and took an unsteady breath as she hurried home. As much as she wanted to stay for the festivities, she wanted to use the last hours she had left tonight to be with her family. She waved and smiled to those who called out greetings to her, but their faces were a blur from the tears that still clouded her vision. This community had been her home for the last eleven years. Everyone knew her from the work she did at the church and the new orphanage they had built for the displaced children who had come in from the city when the Colored Orphan Asylum had been burned down.
Another wave of sadness washed over her when she thought of her students. She didn’t have any formal training to teach anyone, but with the growing need for educators in their area, she had jumped at the chance to help the younger children with their writing and reading—her two favorite subjects when she had been in school.
She was so caught up in her sorrow that she almost missed little Tobias as he ran toward her and wrapped his small arms tightly around her.
“Oh!” Gracie exclaimed as the little boy buried his face in her skirts. She hugged him close to her for a moment then pulled him away and dropped down to her haunches. Sad brown eyes stared back at her, and she pulled him to her again for another quick hug.
“I’m going to miss you too, Tobias,” she whispered over the lump forming in her throat. “But you promise to be a good boy and listen to everything Miss Monroe tells you?”
The little boy nodded, still clinging to her for a bit longer. She was going to miss him most of all. He had made such significant progress since he’d been under the care of the orphanage. He didn’t speak much since he’d been found hiding in the woods a year and a half ago. From the scars on his young body, and the bit of information they had managed to gather from him, he was most likely a runaway who had either been separated from his family or worse—they had been captured or killed.
It had taken months for him to say just a few words, but by then the church had christened him Tobias and the name had stayed. She knew her bond to the little boy came from remembering her own experience many years ago when her family had fled with her in the dead of night. She remembered their fear and her anxiety, and could only imagine what trauma Tobias harbored behind those solemn brown eyes.
“I have to get going now, Tobias.” The little boy tightened his hold on her, and she laughed softly. “I wish I could stay,” she said. I wish I could stay forever. “But I have to go home and finish my packing.” She pulled away and wiped the streak of tears that had fallen on his cheeks with the pad of her thumb. “Don’t cry. You have plenty of people who love you here. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Her attempt at comforting didn’t seem to stop his silent tears. She would just have to maintain her composure and be strong for them both, as she had done the moment she had accepted the arranged marriage.
She had barely managed to keep her poise last week when her students had surprised her with letters and drawings to take with her on her trip. She had said her goodbyes to them, her neighbors, and all of her close friends these past few days, and yet she still didn’t get that sense of closure or peace she had hoped would lighten her heavy heart.
When Tobias’ tears stopped, he thrust a crumpled letter and bruised apple toward her. She smiled down at him. He had been the only one who hadn’t given her a letter. Not that she had expected one. He was still learning but struggling with his writing.
“Is that for me, Tobias?”
His small head bobbed up and down. Gracie took the apple and note from his hand. He must have picked up the gesture from the other students who liked b
ringing her and the other tutors apples. Though she detested the fruit, she had never told her students that.
She opened the letter and found a crude drawing of a short figure and a tall one with what she imagined were her wide skirts. Tears again welled in her eyes and she clutched the items to her chest. If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself weeping uncontrollably in front of the young boy.
“Thank you, Tobias.” Luckily he didn’t hear the strain in her voice. “Tell you what. Why don’t you walk me the rest of the way home?”
With his small hand tucked in hers, they made the short walk to her family’s modest home. When they reached the steps of her front porch, she braced herself for another tearful goodbye, but her young brother startled them when he burst from the house, carrying a cloth-covered basket. In his haste, he almost ran into them.
“Junior. Slow down.”
Her brother came to quick halt, the basket swaying wildly in his hand. “Gracie? You’re supposed to be at the festival.”
“I left early. Now, where you off to?”
A wide grin broke out on his dark brown face. “Going to sell Mama’s biscuits over there. One penny each.”
She stared at him suspiciously. The last she heard, her mother had planned to donate her famous sweet biscuits as part of the festivities. “Did she tell you to sell them?”
“She didn’t tell me not to.”
